


Going Once, Going Twice

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Curses, Dark Mark, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Polyjuice Potion, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Sectumsempra, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has been missing for two years.  Now the Malfoy estate is going up for auction, and Harry decides it’s time to find out what happened to his former school rival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> This story almost didn’t get published. It sat in my "failures" folder for five months because it needed rewrites and I thought it couldn’t be salvaged. If you’ve read any of my other fics you might notice that I pilfered ideas from this one for Bringing Up Weasley and Under Pressure because I thought this one would never see the light of day. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea of the Malfoy estate auction was something I just couldn’t put away. So here it is, finally complete, not without its flaws but a fun story nonetheless.

“You cannot waste your time off sitting around here, doing nothing.”

“Says who?”

Hermione and Harry glowered at each other. Hermione folded her arms across her chest and raised an expectant eyebrow as Harry dug his bottom deeper into the sofa cushions. He stretched his bare feet out across the coffee table and hefted the telly remote control.

"Don't you dare," she narrowed her eyes. 

"They're my days off, Hermione," Harry said. "I can waste them on the sofa if I want to."

"You've not gotten any sunlight in three days. You're going to get rickets. Tell him, Ron."

"They're his days off," Ron said from the kitchen doorway. Hermione glared at him. "Then again you really shouldn't miss out today. Everyone's going to be there."

"I don't care if Merlin himself shows up," Harry's thumb hovered over the power button on the remote. "I've been on duty for five months straight without a single day off. I'm going to do what I want to do for a change."

His friends were silent. He was right, he hadn’t had any time off in ages. Being the savior of the wizarding world and the youngest auror to join the force had eaten up most of his time, and he had made his leisure plans known weeks in advance to anyone who would listen. He hadn’t bothered looking up resorts or planning any trips. His holiday would be spent at home, sacked out in front of the telly, and anyone who suggested otherwise in the days leading up to it got an earful.

"Harry," Hermione sat down and removed the remote from his hand. "This is a once in a lifetime event. How often does the entire estate of one of the richest pureblood families in England go up for auction? Just imagine the artifacts that will be up for bids."

"I don't care."

Hermione looked to her boyfriend for help. Ron shrugged, unwilling to make a big case out of it. Hermione glared at him and silently told him to think of something. Harry wasn’t blind, he could see them arguing wordlessly as they both tried to come up with bait that would be tempting enough to get him off of the couch.

“Malfoy,” Ron blurted out.

“What about him?” Harry pretended he didn’t care.

"No one has seen Draco Malfoy for two years," Ron said. "They say he's gone mad. Don't you want to see that nutter for yourself?"

It was Harry’s turn to glare at Ron. That was a low blow. He knew better than anyone that Harry wanted to know what had happened to Draco Malfoy, but he’d chosen the wrong argument. Harry hadn’t exactly hidden his thoughts on the matter.

"Are you asking me if I want to see Malfoy as a broken, demented man who is ridding himself of his worldly goods in what is likely a suicidal gesture?” Harry asked. "No, that's not something I want to see."

“Well,” Ron stammered. “Maybe he’ll be there and he’ll be fine.”

The three friends fell quiet, each pondering the fate of their former classmate. The rumors of Draco Malfoy's present whereabouts were rampant. In the two years since the war ended his complete disappearance had fueled some bizarre theories about what he had become after the fall of Lord Voldemort. Some said he had killed himself, and that his ghost walked the halls of Malfoy Manor, sobbing for his lost childhood. Others said he had fallen into madness after his father was murdered in Azkaban and his mother landed in St. Mungo's with a bad case of nerves. 

And then there were the crazier theories circulating amongst the muggle-born that he had become a real-life Bruce Wayne who spent his nights patrolling the streets of London as a Batman-wizard crime fighter. That was Harry's favorite theory, simply because it was completely ridiculous but it portrayed his former rival with the strong spirit Harry had always secretly admired. He hated the idea that anything in this world could break Draco Malfoy.

"Ron is right. Maybe he'll be there overseeing the auction," Hermione suggested. "He invited the whole community to his property, surely he plans on showing up."

"Maybe this is all a carefully planned coming out party," Ron nodded. "He's been in hiding for two years, and this is his official reentry into society with a repaired reputation."

"It's not really repaired, though, is it?" Harry thought about all of the terrible daytime telly he would miss if he went with them. Plus he would have to shower and shave and put on some real trousers.

"We never get to do anything together anymore," Hermione blinked back tears that Harry knew were summoned just for effect. He wasn't going to fall for it. "Just the three of us, like the old days. I miss us. Don't you miss us, too?"

Well shit. Maybe it would work after all. 

"I miss us, too," Harry sighed. He was always busy at the Ministry. And Hermione and Ron were always busy teaching classes out at Hogwarts. Coordinating their schedules had proven harder than they had anticipated.

"Then come with us," Hermione raised her hand to his cheek. "You're our best friend. We want to spend time with you."

"Hermione," Harry moaned and flopped his head back on the cushion.

"Please?" she cranked up the puppy dog eyes to maximum sweetness.

"Okay fine!" he chucked the remote at the shabby recliner in the corner. "But I need to shower first."

"I'll say," Ron wrinkled his nose and fanned the air. 

"Very funny, arsehole," Harry grumbled. He ignored Hermione's brilliant grin as he shambled off to the bathroom to wash up.

He climbed into the tub and stood beneath the shower spray, refusing to rush if he was being strong-armed into attending this silly event. It wasn't a put-on, he really didn't want to go. He rattled off reasons in his head as he scrubbed his hair. First, it was at Malfoy Manor, a place he'd visited before and come away with rather unpleasant memories as keepsakes. Second, the items to be auctioned off weren't likely to appeal to him, since he wasn't all that attracted to the opulence and ornate trappings that the Malfoys were known for. Third, there would likely be plenty of dark arts artifacts, and he worried that they would fall into the wrong hands. Staying away would allow him to at least pretend that wasn't happening. Fourth, the event would be crawling with on-duty Aurors. And holiday or not, his colleagues would naturally expect him to be on duty with them. If there was any trouble due to the aforementioned artifacts, he'd have to respond even if he wasn't technically assigned to cover it. 

He rinsed down and recounted his list again. There was one more reason. Malfoy. He was afraid of finding out what had happened to him.

Harry climbed out of the shower. He toweled dry and raked a comb through his thicket of hair and made only a passing effort to push it to the side so it would lay down a bit. He lathered his cheeks and chin and hefted his straight razor, then muttered a quick protection charm that would prevent any inadvertent nicks. He knew it would be manlier to shave charm-free, but in the privacy of his own bathroom he could admit that he was still a bit nervous about cuts and blood. The memory of a misguided Sectumsempra flashed through his mind, as it always did whenever he hefted a blade.

When he was finished he slipped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to find some clean clothes. His flat wasn't much to brag about, just a minimum set of sparsely decorated rooms, but it was his. And the fact that the bedroom was entirely separate from the living room, with a door and everything, was something to be proud of. It meant he was actually doing well, well enough to afford his own London flat, anyway. 

“Wear something a bit posh,” Hermione called. “It’s a big social event, and you don’t want to be seen in trainers.”

Harry rolled his eyes again, as he tended to do a lot around Hermione these days. She had become bossier since taking her teacher apprenticeship at Hogwarts. Fortunately Ron hadn’t adopted the same quality since taking over for Hagrid, probably because the care of magical creatures meant scooping lots of dung, and that tended to keep a man humble.

He flipped through his closet and honestly couldn’t tell the difference between what was nice and what was not. He picked a collared burgundy shirt that buttoned down, figuring buttons were probably preferable to no buttons. He found a pair of tan trousers that still had the crease in them from when they were purchased, and a pair of relatively unscuffed brown leather shoes. It would have to do. He wasn’t going to wear a bloody jacket to this thing.

Hermione inspected him with her lips pressed into a thin line. “I suppose,” she sighed, then went to the loo to freshen up and reset her hair clip. Ron was wearing a shirt and tie with an argyle sweater vest. It was a bit much in Harry’s opinion, but he wasn’t the one going home with her at the end of the day.

“Things going well?” he asked as he stepped around Ron and retrieved the water pitcher from the refrigerator.

“Going great,” Ron nodded. “Hagrid wasn’t much on documentation, so I’ve started writing down everything I’m learning about creature care as I go. So the next caretaker has something to go on, you know?”

“No hippogriff injuries?” Harry asked.

“Not since the first week,” Ron grimaced. “But that’s the perfect reason to take notes, right?”

Harry nodded and drank thoughtfully. He hadn’t been back to visit Hogwarts since the war. He hadn’t seen it in its newly rebuilt state outside of photos in the paper. He wasn’t sure he could return without being overwhelmed with memories he wasn’t particularly interested in reliving.

“Is it strange?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said honestly, surprising Harry a bit. He’d expected his friend to prevaricate a bit, to explain why it was fine when they both knew nothing would ever be like it was. Ron shrugged, “But look, it’s Hogwarts, you know? It’s an institution. The world needs it. Kids need it. I want to support that.”

“That’s admirable.”

“You should come visit,” Hermione said as she came back from the loo. “The reconstruction is finally finished and we’re talking about throwing a grand reopening party for alumni.”

“We’ll see,” Harry ducked his head and deposited his glass in the sink. “Are we ready?”

“Let’s go!” Hermione clapped and skipped happily to the fireplace.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry, Hermione, and Ron each took a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it in, announcing the unlikely destination of Malfoy Manor before stepping through. Harry wondered how Hermione of all people could go so willingly. Then again, she’d always been the strongest of the three of them, and practical to boot. If anyone would be able to separate present day Malfoy Manor from the past, it was her. Harry wasn’t so confident in his own abilities.

They stepped out of the emerald flames into a gazebo on the grounds of the manor, built just at the edge of an exquisite rose garden. A formally dressed man waved travelers out of the temporary fireplace as more and more guests poured in. Ron, Hermione, and Harry scooted out of the way and clattered down the wooden steps to the lush green lawn that stretched out before them.

To their left, Malfoy Manor loomed over the grounds with hard stone angles, grandiose detailing, and towering rooflines. Before them the lawn was lined with white folding chairs, set out in rows to accommodate the throng of attendees who hoped to catch a glimpse and perhaps bid on the well-established extravagance of the Malfoy estate. At the far end of the property the auctioneers had erected a platform where each item up for bid would be visible to the audience. The area between the chairs and the house was filled with tables that held upcoming items that would soon be on the block. Uniform-clad workers moved between the house and the staging area, organizing items by theme. They found a stack of parchments that listed auction times for each category of items and quickly scanned the list.

“It’s a three day event,” Ron marveled. “How do they have enough stuff to fill three days?”

“They won’t even get to automobiles until tomorrow afternoon,” Harry noted. “I’ve never even seen Malfoy in a car before. I wouldn’t have thought his family would embrace muggle transportation.”

“Well apparently they did, if they have enough to dedicate a portion of the day to it,” Hermione shook her head. She scowled as she flipped the parchment over. “They’re not doing magical artifacts until Sunday afternoon,” she said. “They know that’s what everyone wants to see but they put it at the end.”

The crowd was growing as more and more people arrived, so the three Gryffindor friends hurried to find seats together. They had to squeeze in at the end of the row near the staging area, well back from the platform. Harry didn’t intend to bid but he suspected Hermione was entertaining notions of finding something interesting today. Sure enough, she flicked her wand and summoned an auction number on a wooden stick from the front of the seating area.

“They’re even selling refreshments,” ever-hungry Ron leaned over and pointed off to their right. Sure enough, the space between the seats and the ornamental gardens was set up with food carts and booths, as well as a few outhouses set off from the main gathering area.

“You just ate, Ronald,” Hermione said mildly.

The crowd hushed as one as a man in a sharply tailored muggle suit took the stage. He positioned himself behind the podium and nestled a pair of reading glasses over his nose. Attendees were still arriving through the Floo in the gazebo, but a quiet tension spread across the property like an electrostatic field.

"Good morning," the auctioneer called. The crowd murmured in response. "Welcome to the Malfoy family estate auction. All items sold here today are presented in as-is condition. All winning bids shall be paid immediately upon closing. Absolutely no returns. Please check the purchase policy on the back of your listing parchment for full details. Participating in the auction affirms your understanding and acceptance of these terms."

"There are Ginny and Dean," Harry whispered, pointing across the seating area and up a few rows.

"I'm not surprised," Ron muttered back. "She's hoping Malfoy is putting up some of his Quidditch gear today."

"Shh!" Hermione hissed sharply.

"There's Oliver Wood," Ron leaned in closer and spoke under his breath. 

"Great," Harry shielded his face with his hand. "That's all I need."

"He's with some guy from Denmark now," Ron assured him. "He's not even thinking about you."

"Where'd you hear that?" Harry looked up. He should be glad of this news. But he wasn't. 

"We've got a first year that started last week whose daddy just happens to be Oliver Wood's new boyfriend," Ron said. "She talks about him all the time. Totally star-struck." He gave Harry a knowing look, "Sorted into Slytherin."

“Well," Harry shook his head. "If her daddy is a Slytherin sort, he'll eat Oliver alive."

"I don't want to hear it, mate.”

"You know I don't mean like that.”

"Shh!" Hermione hushed them again

Up first were small household goods. Malfoy Manor was a gargantuan house, with each room decorated in appropriately ostentatious accents. Which meant the schedule called for hours of vases, urns, knick-knacks, gewgaws, and tchotchkes to be put up on the block and sold to the highest bidder.

The energy was high, and as Harry watched the bids ping-pong around the crowd, he picked out faces he knew, faces he didn't, and faces his Auror intuition wanted to note as suspicious. He squashed that intuition down, reminding himself that he had a week off and his colleagues were well equipped to handle the shadier attendees. 

He wasn't much interested in home decor. Ginny was quite right, the Quidditch gear would be the stuff to wait for, if indeed any was up for sale. He heard occasional gasps and murmurs of approval as this vase and that figurine went up for bids. Apparently the Malfoys had terrific taste. Harry wouldn't know. It all seemed like a lot of rubbish to him. 

His mind wandered as the progression of items continued. He glanced around the grounds, checking out the tables that were being rapidly replenished as their contents were moved slowly towards the block. Uniformed workers moved back and forth between the mansion and the staging area, bringing ever more possessions. 

In spite of himself, Harry wondered where Draco was. He tried to arrest the thought before it could fully form, but there it was, front of mind. He told himself that he didn't care, except for the fact that he did. He wondered if Draco was lurking in the attic in a Batman cowl, waiting for night to fall so he could head out for some daring crime fighting. 

Of course not, but he loved the image his brain conjured up. He could just imagine his blond schoolmate, decked out in a latex suit that looked as though it had been poured on, sculpted, strategically reinforced abdominal and pectoral muscles, perhaps a tiny Slytherin snake pinned to his shoulder as the only evidence of his identity. All topped off with a flowing black cape and a face-concealing mask that revealed luminescent silvery eyes that peered out of the darkness. 

His palms were sweating. He squinted up at the sun. It was a gorgeous day, the kind of perfect September morning where everything feels cool and fresh and clean. Odd that the sun would target his palms so specifically.

"Next up, this thirteenth century Etruscan bronze lion, opening bid at twenty five thousand Galleons," the auctioneer called. The crowd murmured eagerly. It was about to get interesting.

Harry peered at the house again. Did Draco even care about his estate? Was he watching, tallying how much of the wizarding community's hard earned income he was taking? Or was that other nasty rumor true, and he really had killed himself and now wandered the halls of the manor as a ghost?

He looked up at the second floor windows. The drapes were drawn on every one, not a single panel open to let the light shine in. His eyes skipped over the middle of the house and lingered on the far tower.

"That statue is so ugly," Ron's eyes bugged out as the well-to-do bickered over bids near the front of the seating area. "Why would anyone want it?"

"It's historically significant," Hermione said. "Looks aren't everything."

"Lucky for me," Ron grinned affectionately and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She took his hand in hers. 

Harry looked away and went back to squinting at the mansion. The third floor was similarly closed up. The drapes were all lined with the same neutral material so the appearance was uniform, but it was clear that light was not getting in. 

Maybe Draco had become a vampire. Harry shuddered. That was actually not a bad explanation. He could have been bitten and gone into hiding. Maybe he was lying in a casket in the dungeon, waiting for nightfall to come out and hunt for blood. 

Harry's imagination worked overtime. He thought of Draco Malfoy with his white-blond hair slicked back, which was not much of a stretch, dressed in a high-collared cloak that he swept across the lower half of his face. Large silvery eyes glared balefully over his elbow, which lowered to reveal a nasty pair of needle-tipped fangs. 

Absurd. Pureblood Malfoys would rather die than be tainted. Certainly Draco would throw himself on a wooden stake before he would accept life as a vampire. Which meant werewolf theories were out, too. 

Harry's eyes drifted across the left tower, across the near end, jumped over to the far end, and finally the other tower.

Wait a minute.

Harry closed his eyes and consulted his memory from his last visit. If he thought carefully he could recall the front of the house. Ten pairs of windows stretched across the second floor with a great four-paned picture window in the middle. Twenty four windows end to end. He looked up at the back of the house and counted along the second floor. Five sets of two and then five sets of two. Twenty windows. That didn't seem right. The windows were the same size and spacing on the back as the front. Where were the four in the middle?

Another large stylized bronze statue came up next. The scales were detailed in magical fiery red and yellow enamel that shifted hue in the sunlight. It was the first thing Harry had seen that he really liked. But he could tell from the opening bids that it was out if his price range. He needed to wait until there was a window of smaller items--

Window. Wait a minute. He looked back at the house. Five pairs of two windows. Where were the four in the middle?

Ron was bouncing his leg, a sure sign that he was either anxious or bored. Harry guessed bored. He smacked his friend on the knee and shook his head with a frown. If someone didn't stay on top of Ron's leg jiggling these days Harry thought he might do it twenty-four hours a day--

Twenty-four. Twenty-four windows. Wait a minute. He looked back at the house. Five pairs of two windows. Where were the four in the middle?

"I see Nevile up front," Harry whispered to his friends. "Do you think he's really going to bid on something?"

"He married rich," Hermione said mildly. "He can bid on whatever he likes."

"It's not like him to sit up front," Harry said. "He usually likes to sit towards the middle.” 

Middle? What about those middle windows? He looked up at the house. Five pairs of two windows. For Merlin's sake, déjà vu!

Harry's Auror training finally kicked in. Déjà vu usually indicated that something had been charmed. He took a deep breath and walked himself through the process of decoding it. What had the déjà vu shown him? He felt like he'd counted those windows before. No, don't get distracted, stay focused. That's it, the charm doesn't want you to count windows. Or see them. Rather, some of them. Not the ten on the near end, not the ten on the far end, but the four in the middle. No, don't!

"I wonder what they're serving over at the food carts," Harry murmured to Ron.

What had be been thinking about? Damn it, the windows. The windows had been charmed to deflect attention. Suspicious. He twisted his fingers and swooped his hand in front of his chest and muttered a quiet incantation. There, that should prevent him from getting distracted every time he looked at the house. 

He peered up at it again. Five sets of two windows. He knew there would be something in the middle, a bay window or a balcony or a breezeway or something. His eyes skittered around the framework and stone and refused to come to a rest. Trickier and trickier! It was triple charmed, first to deflect the eyes, then to deflect attention, then to distract and make the viewer forget he tried to look in the first place. Deviously complex.

Why would part of the house be charmed to evade notice? He nudged Ron with his elbow and gestured at the second floor. "Tell me what you see up there, second floor center."

Ron squinted at the house and opened his mouth, then looked down at his hand and frowned at a hangnail. "I just trimmed these last night," he said, apropos of nothing. Sure enough, the charm was protecting itself as it protected the mansion. 

It had to be Draco Malfoy. Who else would care whether the house was seen? Maybe, thought Harry, it wasn't the house that he wanted to hide. Maybe he was watching the auction from up there. Now that seemed likely. Whether or not he was up there in tight-fitting spandex and a cape was another matter. Although Harry really hoped so.

Now his own knee was bouncing. He couldn't help it, he was a problem solver by nature. He'd solved the problem of the attention deflecting charm, but that only answered it partway. The real question, the one that had gotten him into trouble his whole life, was why?

What if the death of Voldemort had left Draco cruelly disfigured? Would he hide his face for fear of rejection? Or vanity? Unlikely. Like the vampire scenario, Harry guessed Draco would rather commit suicide than live in disfigurement. Following the war, before his disappearance, nature had been kind, stripping away his skinny, pointy ferret-faced qualities and replacing them with firm, supple limbs and strong, straight shoulders. It was no secret that Draco Malfoy was handsome. Some would say very handsome. Some would say devastatingly handsome. Not Harry. Harry wouldn't say that. That was not something Harry would say. 

So why was he hiding up there? Maybe he had fully transformed into a dark wizard the likes of Voldemort and wasn't yet ready to come out and claim his power. That made the least sense of any theory. Harry had seen the fear and pain in Draco's face when the Dark Lord had forced him to do truly evil things. He was a prat with an arsehole for a father, not an evil person.

So what was he hiding from up there? Harry had said he didn't want to know. But he wanted to know. If nothing else, he had to know the horrible theories were definitely untrue. If he could see Draco with his own eyes and assure himself that the man was somewhat normal, the definition of which allowed for a bit of eccentric reclusiveness, he would feel better. Professionally speaking, of course. 

"I'll be right back," he whispered and stepped away from the seating area.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry strolled casually towards the mansion, nodding at the latecomers who were perusing the staging area, which was now being filled with lamps of all shapes and sizes. He reached the door where the uniformed workers were coming and going and stood near the doorway, searching for the slick, familiar sensation of protective wards. As far as he could tell, there was simply no barrier in place today. Harry suspected that was not typical of Malfoy Manor. 

He shook his wand into his hand and cast a temporary attention-deflecting charm, just a shadow of the one in place on the second floor, but it was enough to get him through the door without anyone calling out to stop him.

The interior of the house was dim and cool, and for a moment he was disoriented by the memory that he had been there before under very different circumstances. He was standing in a small hallway with doorways branching off to either side. He moved quickly to escape discovery, and noted the kitchen on his right and the dining room on his left. The dining room had been gutted and was now being used to warehouse the objects that were to be auctioned off over the next two and a half days.

He darted down the hall towards the foyer, his senses on high alert. He reached the grand staircase that led up from the reception room and ascended with his wand at the ready. If he had to he would Obliviate anyone who discovered him and dash back outside before anyone else showed up. The last thing he wanted was an ethics violation on his record for doing vigilante investigations outside of his assignments with the Ministry of Magic.

He crested the top of the stairs and glanced around. Ornate brocade rugs that had formerly lined the floors were rolled up into fat silken sausages, waiting for a turn on the auction block. The richly stained plank floors that had been protected by those rugs for decades gleamed in satiny smooth perfection, their condition like new. Harry's hard-heeled leather shoes clicked across the wood as he explored the corridor. He counted doorways and honed in on the pair of rooms that occupied the center of the floor. Through those doors lay whatever it was that no one was supposed to see.

Here was where Harry stopped with a crisis of conscience. Should he be in here? Draco Malfoy had done nothing illegal that he knew of. This was a pretty major violation of his privacy. Harry couldn't honestly justify home invasion, yet here he was. It was a recurring theme in his life, diving into action before thinking of the potential consequences.

He turned away. He couldn't do it. He couldn't justify barging in, no matter how badly he wanted to know whether Draco was okay. 

He corrected himself. He didn't want to know if Draco was okay. He wanted to know why he had an attention deflecting charm on his house. A complex one, at that. It really needed explanation. And Harry was an Auror, after all, and it was his business to investigate suspicious activities. 

He turned around again. He would knock. There was nothing wrong with knocking. He wouldn't go in if the occupant of the room told him to go away. One good, solid knock ought to do it. He raised his fist. 

If he was going to be fully honest, his knock was more like a tap. If the room's occupant had been just slightly distracted he would have missed it. But it was technically a knock, and no one had told him to leave. So he grasped the handle and with his heart in his throat he pushed the door open. 

It was a bedroom, nothing spectacular, nothing dangerous. The middle of the room was dominated by an oversized four-poster bed, the opposite wall was filled with a merrily crackling fireplace. Bookcases lined the remaining walls, overflowing with tomes and newspapers and little collectibles. A stack of boxes sagged in the far corner, overflowing with childhood toys and keepsakes. Harry wondered if Draco was storing the items he wanted to keep here. 

Speaking of whom, where was Draco anyway? The active fireplace was a sure indication that someone was around. He crossed the room with his wand extended and discovered a luxurious bathroom through a doorway to the left. On the far side of the bathroom was another bedroom, fully furnished but sparser than the first. Both bedrooms ended in French doors that led outside. He crossed back through to the cluttered bedroom and noticed the French doors in here were ajar.

His heart pounded. He was just moments away from discovering the fate of Draco Malfoy, missing for more than two years. He reached his hand out, fingers trembling just slightly. 

"Batman. Batman. Batman," he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. "No vampires."

He pushed the door open. It swung wide, revealing a large, spacious balcony that looked out over the auction below.

"Where's my tea, Noddy?" a voice rasped. "Potter!"

"Malfoy!" Harry reeled back.

Draco was huddled on an all-weather chaise lounge, his platinum blond hair rumpled and hanging over his eyes in oily strands. His jaw was patchy with uneven beard growth, and his gray eyes were bloodshot and bleary. He was barefoot and wore nothing but boxer shorts and a robe thrown haphazardly over his shoulders with the tie dangling to the ground beneath him.

"What are you doing here?" Draco shouted. He jumped up and caught his foot on his robe, which turned his ankle and sent him stumbling into another deck chair. "Get out!" he yelled. "Get out of here!"

"I'm sorry!" Harry yelped and leapt back into the bedroom. He spun on his heel and ran for the exit, thundered down the stairs and ran out through the back door without so much as a concealment charm. The uniformed workers were undisturbed by his intrusion. 

His whole body trembled. He had honestly thought he would find Draco as he remembered him, neat and tidy and serenely haughty. Even a cruel sneer would have been more reassuring than the disheveled wreck of a man upstairs.

He staggered back to his seat as Hermione was raising her number and making a hopeless bid on a rose quartz singing bowl. She was immediately outbid but shrugged good-naturedly about it. 

"At least I tried," she grinned. "Harry, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I did," Harry said. 

"Come on, I need something to eat," Ron grasped his arm and shoved him back out of his chair. Hermione followed closely behind.

They slowly circled around the back of the seating area and crossed over to the refreshment stands. Harry stared resolutely at his feet and didn't bother trying to look up at the second floor balcony, which he knew would elude him even if he wanted to look.

"Did you go inside?" Hermione asked. "You didn't, did you?"

"I did," Harry admitted. He spotted one of his coworkers and nodded politely as they passed.

"What would possess you to do something like that?" Hermione asked. "That's technically breaking and entering, you know."

"He spelled his house," Harry blurted out. "He cast a spell so you can't look at the second floor balcony, and if you try you forget that you did."

"Rubbish," Hermione scoffed. She and Ron looked up at the house across the way and Harry watched as their eyes diverted and swung back to the food carts.

"Look! Doner kebabs!" Ron pointed. 

"See?" Harry asked. 

"See what?" Hermione furrowed her brow. 

"You can't look at the second floor balcony." Harry said. 

"Rubbish." Hermione and Ron looked again. And once again their attention diverted. 

"Look! Doner kebabs!" Ron pointed. 

Harry rubbed his face in exasperation. "Okay this time you watch Ron, okay?" He turned Hermione by the top of her curly head so that she was facing her boyfriend instead of the house. "Hey Ron, how many windows are on the second floor of the mansion?"

"Starting from this end," Ron squinted, "I see two, four, six, eight, ten--" his eyes darted to the side and wandered back across to their end of the property. "Look! Doner kebabs!"

"I see," Hermione frowned.

"See what?" Ron asked. 

"You can't look at the second floor balcony," Harry said, then pushed Ron's shoulder to turn him away from the house. "Don't try or you'll forget again."

"So you went inside to find out why?" Hermione asked. "That was risky."

"I wanted to know what was going on," Harry said. They waited while Ron bought a huge overstuffed pita and rejoined them. 

"Did you find Malfoy?" Ron garbled around a mouthful of lamb. 

"Yeah," Harry gusted a sigh and puffed his cheeks out to show how overwhelming it was. "He didn't look like himself. He was a wreck. Unshowered, unshaven, bloodshot eyes, barely clothed, even his voice was rough."

"Is he ill?" Ron asked. "Maybe he's ill."

"I don't know," Harry said. "He was angry when he saw me. He yelled at me to get out. I think he would have hit me if he could."

"I'm surprised he didn't hex you," Hermione said. 

"He wasn't armed," Harry dismissed her concerns. "I always survey the subject for a wand first."

"Listen to the professional Auror over here," Ron smirked.

"You have to find out what happened to him," Hermione said, ever the Gryffindor.

"No," Harry said. "This was supposed to be my day off. I'm not investigating. I'm here to see the auction and that's it."

"But--"

"No," Harry repeated. 

"Fine," Hermione sighed and waved for them to follow her back to their seats. Ron scarfed down his food and by the time they sat back down he was licking his fingers clean. 

The auction was transitioning into lighting fixtures. Up first was an enormous iron chandelier Harry recalled from his previous visit. It had hung in the foyer, grim and heavy and formidable. The bidding started slow but at a high price. If everything was this dear, Harry thought, Gringotts would need to open a new vault. 

A tickling sensation buzzed Harry's ear. He flapped his hand and ignored it. It tickled again. He brushed his ear and looked around for bugs. Then the tickle became a sting and Harry slapped his hand to his head to stop it. Where was it coming from? He looked up and saw nothing. Just the staging area and the house beyond, the drawn windows and the balcony--

Hang on, he could see the balcony now. He peered up at it and saw a black figure topped in white, and had the distinct feeling that it was looking directly at him. He turned to Ron to check. 

"Do you see the balcony?" he asked. 

Ron looked up. His eyes slid across the staging area to the house, then back across the other way to the food carts. "Do you think anyone is selling pumpkin juice today or is it too early in the growing season?"

That answered that. For whatever reason, the deflection charm had been lifted for his eyes only. The question, once again, was why. His Gryffindorian sensibilities couldn't resist a why. He had to know. 

"Be back in a bit," Harry stood and went straight to the house.

This time he didn't bother with a concealment charm. He walked straight in past the uniformed auction workers, and a moment later he was turning the handle on the second floor bedroom door and entering quietly. The French doors were still ajar as they were before. Harry braced himself and readied his wand, not sure what to expect on the other side. With a deep breath, he stepped through.


	4. Chapter 4

"Knock knock," Harry said as he nudged the door a bit wider. He stepped out on the balcony and his next words dried up in his throat. 

Draco stood before him, tall and strong and tidy. He was clean shaven, his short hair was neatly styled, and he wore an exquisitely tailored black suit that drew attention to his broad shoulders and straight back. He held a glass in his hand and swirled a shot of amber liquid over ice in smooth circles. He raised one neatly groomed eyebrow expectantly and gazed at Harry with hooded gray eyes. 

"Malfoy," Harry gasped, unable to say anything more substantial. 

"You owe me a better audience than earlier," Draco said in a sharp, clear tone that was so familiar that Harry's knees almost buckled. 

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said, grasping the back of a deck chair to prevent himself from toppling over with relief. He was so incredibly happy to know that the disheveled heap of a man he'd seen earlier wasn't the true Malfoy. 

"I clean up nicely," Draco said. "That's what you're thinking, right?"

"It's an improvement.”

"I'd just woken up, you prat," Draco rolled his eyes. "Like not even five minutes before you barged in. I was up late last night preparing for the auction, I hadn't showered or shaved, I hadn't had my bloody tea yet. It's not the kind of condition where you feel inclined to entertain guests."

"Sorry," Harry said again. 

"I suppose you look groomed and fresh as a daisy as soon as your head pops up off of the pillow," Draco grumbled. 

"I don't either," Harry said. "I probably look as bad as you did."

"Bad?" Draco looked horrified. "I know I didn't look my best, but bad? I didn't think that was possible."

"Bad for you," Harry smiled weakly. He had to resist the urge to run to Draco and pump his hand enthusiastically. Or worse, hug him just for being alive, sane, and himself.

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally Draco remembered his drink and gestured to a leather-clad service caddy near the wall.

"Help yourself," he said as he sank gracefully into one of the deck chairs. An antique glass-domed Edison stock ticker near the railing reeled off a length of tape every time the gavel struck down below. Draco lifted a section of ribbon and inspected it closely.

Harry wasn't sure if he was being invited to sit. And if he was, he wasn't sure how to feel about that. So he busied himself pouring a drink and took a deep pull from the glass to give himself time to think.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Better than rumored." Draco waved his drinking glass at the other chair in a clear invitation. Harry obediently sat. 

"Where have you been?" Harry asked softly. 

Draco looked up in surprise. He narrowed his eyes as though trying to dissect the question. Harry's cheeks flushed. His voice had come out more concerned than he had intended. He didn't personally care, but the world wanted to know. 

"I've been here," Draco said finally.

"No one has seen you in two years."

"I know."

"So what have you been doing in all this time?" 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Draco looked down at his drink and swirled his ice again. 

"Try me," Harry leaned forward on his knees and peered up at his former schoolmate. In his mind he still held out hope for Batman. 

"Philanthropy," Draco drawled, looking up with a slow blink. "I've been raising funds for war reparations, hospital upgrades, setting up educational trusts for children who were orphaned during the war, that sort of thing."

"You're right, I don't believe you.”.

"That's okay," Draco returned his gaze to his drink. "I don't expect anyone to believe me. Certainly not you."

"Why would you suddenly become generous? It's not like you," Harry pointed out. 

"It wasn't like me when you and everyone else last saw me," Draco said.

Harry sat back and drank. He wanted to believe Draco but it was nigh impossible, given his history. Then again, the war had been a terrible strain on everyone. Devastating to many. Voldemort had hurt enemies and allies alike, and once he had honed in on Draco as a tool to punish his father, the Slytherin boy's life had become a walking nightmare. 

It had taken far too long for Harry to understand the depths of Draco's despair. He'd mistakenly believed that his rival had taken the dark path deliberately and freely. He had followed him and accused him, believing he was another Tom Riddle in training, an evil wizard in the making. By the time he'd realized how wrong he was it was too late to make amends.

Were reformation and repentance really so far fetched? Maybe not. But old habits die hard, and it was hard to believe anyway.

"Why disappear completely?" he changed the subject.

Draco didn't answer. He reached out to the Edison ticker and checked the length of the ribbon for selling prices. He grunted and paused on one entry, then nodded in approval. "That was my mother's favorite lamp," he murmured.

"Malfoy," Harry insisted. "Why did you disappear completely?"

Draco sighed and let the ticker tape flutter to the stone floor. "Potter," he said, "there's no way you could understand. You, of all people."

"Try me," Harry held his eyes, trying to convey that he was certain he could understand, but totally unable to speak the words. 

Draco scooped the ribbon up again and looked at the item that had just chattered across. He sneered and tossed it away. He folded his arms across his chest and stared past the garden, over the top of the auction attendees' heads.

"The Malfoys have no friends," he said finally. "I have no friends. Everyone who aligned with us before the war abandoned us. Even the former bloody Death Eaters regarded us as traitors." He glanced over his shoulder at Harry, his eyes shadowed and bitter. "I am persona non grata, unwelcome in the wizarding community."

"That's no reason to give up," Harry said. "You can't just stay indoors forever because people don't like you. Things will change eventually but you have to get out and show you've changed first."

"I have been gobbed on," his voice grew more bitter by the second. "There isn't a single person in all of bloody England who would so much as wee on me if I was on fire. Tell me you understand that, Saint Potter."

"I've done my time as the target of mass hatred," Harry said. "What world are you living in if you don't remember that?"

"It's different, isn't it?" Draco stood and turned to face him straight on, pain etched across his handsome face.

"Not really," Harry said. He set his drink down and stood, too. "And when I didn't have the whole world saying I was mad or awful or thinking that being able to speak parseltongue meant that I was an evil person, I had this total bloody prat at school who thought his purpose in life was to make me miserable. As though I wasn't miserable enough, he made it his mission to make things worse for me. So yes, I do know what it's like to be hated."

Draco looked away, his mouth twisted but silent. Harry knew it wasn't fair to pile all of that on him. Not that he wasn't responsible for everything Harry had said, but it was the wrong time to vent. A pang of guilt jabbed him in the stomach. 

"But listen," he said, holding his palms up in a gesture of truce, "not everyone hates you. I don't. If you were on fire, I would be the first to wee on you."

Draco peered suspiciously at Harry as though he wasn't sure whether he was joking. Then he ducked his head and snorted with a tiny smile. "Shut up, Potter."

A warmth spread through Harry's middle where the guilty pang had been just moments ago. He preferred it when Draco was a bit feisty. The war had stolen that from him, and it was good to see a hint of it again. 

"I have a bit more sorting to do," Draco took one more quick glance at the ticker tape before moving towards the door. "Tomorrow morning we'll be starting on books," he called over his shoulder as he went inside. "It's a huge job, though, and I have to make sure I set aside the dangerous ones."

Harry wasn't sure whether to follow, but Draco was talking as he walked away, which seemed to indicate that he was supposed to come along. So he did.

"What are you doing with the dangerous ones?" Harry asked. "Are you keeping them?"

They climbed the stairs to the third floor and Draco led him to an office that was lined with mostly empty bookcases. The books had been sorted and stacked around the floor on pallets, ready to be moved in groups.

"I have no use for them. I was going to have them all destroyed, but now I think I have a recipient in mind," Draco said vaguely.

Harry noticed right away that there was one bookcase that he couldn't look at. Every time he tried his eyes slid past it. He suspected it was charmed with the same spell that protected the balcony downstairs. 

Draco flipped his wrist in a wandless gesture and lifted the deflection charm. The bookcase was now visible, overstuffed with ancient leather-bound tomes with vile titles that included demon summoning, soul extraction, and raising the dead.

"These are not for sale," Draco said softly, touching the binding of a book about deadly poisons.

"You don't want them anymore?" Harry asked. He stepped up next to Draco, their shoulders nearly touching. 

"You say that as though I ever had a use for them," Draco said. He turned and looked Harry in the eye. "I only ever used a spell from one of these once." He said no more and Harry didn't ask.

"Can I help?" Harry asked. The question was out of his mouth before he knew he was forming. Draco seemed just as surprised by the offer. 

"Well," he glanced around, "this big pile needs to be sorted. Dark arts go on the shelf, others go in one of the piles that matches the topic."

"Got it," Harry knelt before the heap of books and picked one up. After a moment of hesitation Draco sank to his knees next to Harry and did the same.

They worked quietly, hefting a book, checking the title, then either setting it aside or placing it on one of the other stacks. Harry shook his wand into his hand and levitated the books to their various destinations but Draco stood and walked them across the floor each time. 

"It would be easier with your wand," Harry said.

"Probably so," Draco said, returning to the pile.

They reached for the same book and their hands collided. Harry blushed furiously and jerked back, seizing another book in its place. Draco shifted uncomfortably and scooted an inch or two away.

"Where is your wand?" Harry asked to distract from the awkward moment. 

"Downstairs."

"You don't have it on you?" That surprised Harry. No one walked around without a wand, not even at home. It was too universally needed to set aside.

"Nope," Draco stood and walked another book across the room.

"Seems like a lot of wasted energy," Harry said. 

"Well it's not like I'm going to wear my legs out, is it?" Draco snapped. He sneered at Harry and Harry couldn't help but glare back out of habit.

"I'm just trying to help.”.

"No one asked you to.”

They held each other's eyes, instantly transported back to their school rivalry. Harry's Auror training kicked in as he realized his emotions were running higher than his judgement. He walked himself through the process of backing down to a neutral perspective.

"What are we cross about?" he asked when he was calm.

"I don't know," Draco's brow was still furrowed. 

"I don't either."

Draco's expression softened. He turned back to the pile of books and set down the one in his hand. He returned and knelt next to Harry and went back to sorting. 

"It's been years, hasn't it?" he said after a moment. “Since we’ve done that, I mean.”

"More than two," Harry agreed. "I can't remember arguing over anything that petty since sixth year. Maybe before."

"So that's four years at least," Draco sat back on his heels. "Why is it so hard to break old patterns?"

"Maybe you can only break old patterns if you adopt new ones in their place," Harry suggested.

"That sodding Auror training has made you too level-headed," Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye. 

Harry tried not to let his gaze linger on the other boy's strong profile. "So you heard about that."

"I read the papers, Potter," Draco snorted. "I'm not a total shut-in. I know you're a rising star in law enforcement."

"Rising star is probably a bit of an overstatement," Harry chuckled. 

"Undoubtedly," Draco said, walking a book across the room. "The papers have always overstated your value."

Harry looked up, annoyance flaring in his chest again. Draco was smirking, book balanced cockily at the end of his fingers. There was something about the way he stood, something about his confidence, the sly twist of his lips, the jut of his hip, and Harry on his knees before him. He swallowed hard and couldn't find the air to speak.

"You're too easy," Draco said.

A bolt of nervousness shot through Harry. Sure, he'd fooled around a bit. He'd occasionally hooked up with a bloke or two after a night at the pub, but he wouldn't call himself easy. And he certainly wasn't trying to hook up with Draco now.

"But then it's always been easy to annoy you," Draco added, dropping the book onto the stack beside him.

Inside Harry sagged with relief. He'd thought Draco was driving at something else entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

Finishing the pile of books wasn't difficult, most of them were sellable, and the few that needed to be sequestered were easily identified. As they were sorting the last few a small house elf appeared in the doorway. 

"Lunch is ready, Master Draco," she squeaked. 

"Thank you , Noddy," Draco said without looking up. "Is the kitchen secured?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "Will Harry Potter be joining Master Draco for lunch?"

Draco and Harry looked at each other warily. Harry was hungry. And in spite of Ron's recent meal-sized snack, undoubtedly he and Hermione would be thinking about lunch soon, too. He realized he'd been gone for quite a while and hadn't told them where he was going. 

"I wouldn't be a good host if I didn't offer," Draco said, his tone formal. 

"I guess I wouldn't be a good guest if I didn't accept," Harry shrugged. He told himself it was a smart idea. He still didn't understand why the former Slytherin had hidden away from the world so completely. He'd rather stay as long as it took to find out than leave with unanswered questions.

Draco smiled for just a moment, a real, sincere smile that reached his eyes. But then it was gone in a flash. Buried behind the dispassionate mask he'd adopted back when Voldemort had filled him with his cruel intentions. 

They descended to the second floor, then Draco led the way to a narrow servant stairway at the back of the house that led directly down to the kitchen. Noddy had Apparated ahead of them and was setting out a second serving at the dinette set near the bay window. The curtains were drawn as they were throughout the house, but the thin yellow cotton let the cheerful glow of midday sunlight through.

"It's actually kind of cozy in here," Harry remarked as they sat. Noddy set a small bowl of soup and a warm, crusty sandwich with melted cheese in front of them. "She takes good care of you," he remarked. His stomach growled audibly. 

"She does," Draco politely ignored the noise. "She's the only one left in the world who does."

"I'm sorry," Harry was sincerely saddened to hear him say that. 

"It's not your fault."

"I don't mean it like that. I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you."

"Well," Draco tucked into his soup as though famished. "It's not like I haven't earned it."

Harry took a huge bite of his sandwich and sagged with bliss. It was delicious. He gave Noddy a thumbs-up sign, his mouth too full for a real compliment. The house elf crouched bashfully and giggled. 

"You didn't earn all of it," Harry said after he had swallowed. "A lot happened to you that you couldn't control. Voldemort shouldn't have threatened to kill your parents to get you to do his bidding."

"You knew about that?" Draco didn't look up from his plate.

"I was there that night," Harry set his spoon down. "In the Astronomy Tower. The night Professor Dumbledore--" He couldn't finish the thought. 

"You saw what I did," Draco nodded at his plate. His hands plucked at the fringe of the placemat. 

"I saw what you didn't do," Harry said softly. He reached out and touched the back of Draco's hand, startling him into looking up. "I know you didn't want to."

Draco's gray eyes flicked down to Harry's hand on his. Harry quickly withdrew and busied himself with his soup. They ate in silence, and every now and then Noddy approached to top off their drinks. Harry noticed that Draco's soup spoon was trembling in his fingers but said nothing, not wanting to shame him further.

When they were done Noddy cleared their dishes. Draco went to hand her his glass but fumbled it, and it toppled to the tile floor before he could stop it. It shattered, sending shards skittering across the floor,

Draco cursed under his breath. "Don't move," he said. "Noddy, Apparate over to the sink. I think it didn't get that far." He knelt carefully and started picking up bits of debris with his fingers. 

"Don't do that, you’ll cut yourself," Harry touched his shoulder to stop him. Draco looked up and Harry was overcome momentarily by the sight of him on his knees before him. He cleared his throat and pushed the thought down. "This is why you should be carrying your wand."

He swished and flicked and with a quick Reparo the glass was whole again. Draco stood and mumbled a thank you. It was awkward again.

“I need to check the ticker,” Draco jerked his thumb towards the stairs. “Besides, I shouldn’t be down here while the workers are around, just in case.”

“You really think you need to hide from everyone?” Harry was saddened again. Draco didn’t answer. “I probably need to let Ron and Hermione know I’m still around.”

“Are you going to be bidding on anything?” Draco asked. “If you tell me what you want, I’ll let you have it. As payment for helping me finish the book sorting,” he added.

“No, that’s okay,” Harry said. “I wasn’t planning on participating. I only came because Hermione made me.”

“Oh,” Draco’s eyes clouded. “Okay then.” He turned and darted up the stairs without another word.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry said softly to no one in particular. He sighed and went outside with a heavy heart. He had told himself that he would stick around until he understood Draco Malfoy’s isolation, but in the end he was leaving without a real answer. Then again, he sort of had an answer. Draco felt like the whole world hated him. He had locked himself away to protect his heart from the onslaught of hatred. But there had to be more than that. The Draco he remembered was stronger than hate. The Draco upstairs was not. What had changed?

“Where have you been?” Hermione jumped up from her chair and ran to him as he made his way across the staging area. Ron was two steps behind her.

“I was inside,” Harry said simply.

“Did you see him? Is he still in there?” his two friends leaned forward eagerly.

“He’s still in there,” he nodded. “I spoke with him.”

“Is he mad? Is it terrible?”

“No,” Harry waved them back a step. They were crowding him with their need for gossip. “He looks good, actually. He’d only just woken up when I saw him before.”

“So he’s normal?” Hermione actually looked a bit disappointed.

“He’s normal,” Harry hesitated. “He’s not like he was before, though. He’s been through hell. He’s not aggressive and bullyish. He’s matured, I guess.”

“Haven’t we all?” Ron asked philosophically.

“You haven’t,” Hermione poked him playfully in the side. He snatched her wrist and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“So what were you talking about in all that time?” Hermione shoved Ron away.

“Just stuff,” Harry shrugged. “I helped him sort the books for tomorrow.”

“That’s what I want to see,” Hermione’s eyes glowed in anticipation. “I want to be a serious bidder. What kind of books does he have? Are they bad?”

“There are some pretty bad ones,” Harry said. “But he’s setting those aside. He says he doesn’t want people getting their hands on them. I think he’s going to donate them, maybe.”

“Donate to whom?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That should be concerning, no?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry glanced up at the balcony. His eyes slid past and he found himself unable to look directly at it again. For some reason that made his heart ache a bit. It told him he wasn’t welcome to come back. “He was originally going to destroy them.”

“So if he’s normal, why is he hiding away from the world?” Ron asked. “And why is he auctioning off everything he owns?”

“I didn’t ask him that part,” Harry realized. “But I think he’s hiding for the obvious reason. Everyone hates him, and he doesn’t want to be constantly subjected to that.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Ron frowned.

The crowd oohed and aahed as the auctioneer announced the start of a new category of items. Uniformed workers began propping framed artwork near the block, and a shuffling and reorganizing of the attending audience permitted the art collectors to move forward and the novices to move back.

“There’s Theodore Nott,” Hermione pointed to a slim man moving towards the front of the crowd. “Apparently he’s interested in artwork these days.”

“I haven’t thought of him in ages,” Harry said. “Why can he mingle with society while Malfoy is locked up in his mansion?”

“He’s the son of a Death Eater, not a Death Eater himself,” Hermione reminded him. “It’ makes a big difference in the eyes of the community.”

“I guess,” Harry muttered.

They had lost their seats in the shuffle and had to find a set of open chairs together, which meant they ended up near the back. Harry could hardly make out the detail of the paintings from where they sat, but he supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t much interested in artwork anyway.

Auction workers were passing through the aisles, handing out booklets that listed information about all of the paintings for anyone who wanted one. Harry took one just to have something to look at while the bidding went on. He saw Theodore Nott bid several times, but honestly had no idea whether he had good taste or not. But judging from the crowd noises, he was bidding on the most impressive ones.

He wondered if Draco had set any of the paintings aside, just one or two that had meant something to him. He didn’t understand how he could give up everything he owned. Surely he had warm childhood memories around some of the mansion’s contents. The bedroom off of the balcony was stuffed with keepsakes, so he supposed that was the reserved area. But he couldn’t recall whether there was any artwork in there.

“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?” a voice said near Harry’s ear, startling him out of his reverie.

“No, it’s free,” he said quickly, looking up.

A handsome man with dark, chestnut hair and golden hazel eyes sat next to him. He smiled with full, well-shaped lips and nodded a thank you. He flipped open his booklet and read through the listing.

“Do I know you?” Harry blurted out. The man’s eyes were familiar. He was certain he’d seen him somewhere before.

“I don’t know, maybe?” he smiled. “Gavin Offer,” he extended his hand.

Harry shook it and smiled. “Harry Potter,” he said. “Where would I have met you before?”

“The pub, maybe?” Gavin shrugged.

“Maybe. Oh,” Harry’s memory kicked in. His face flushed crimson. Merlin, this was awkward. He had hooked up with this man a couple of months ago at a muggle club in London. They hadn’t gone all the way, just a mutual handy in the alley, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of story he felt he should mention as a reminder.

“Right,” Gavin nodded with a sheepish grin. “You do remember me.”

“You remember as well?” Harry rubbed his cheek, wishing the blood would disperse. He was painfully aware that Ron and Hermione were sitting on the other side of him, and hoped they weren’t able to read between the lines. They disapproved of the handful of dalliances he’d indulged in after things went dodgy with Oliver Wood.

“Of course,” Gavin went back to scanning the artwork listing. “Planning on bidding on anything today?”

“No,” Harry said. “I’m here for the show, I guess.”

“Ah.”

“And actually it’s ridiculous that I came when it’s supposed to be my day off,” he rambled on. He’d never bumped into a former hook-up in a social setting before. “I should be at home sitting around in my pants, watching terrible telly. I never get days off.”

“If you don’t want to be here, why did you bother?” Gavin asked, not looking up from the brochure.

“Curiosity, I suppose.” Harry scratched his nose.

“I think that’s why a lot of people are here.” Gavin’s voice sounded sad.

“I don’t mean like the spectacle,” Harry said. “I know I said I’m here for the show, but I’m not really. I was actually more interested in finding out about Draco Malfoy.”

“No one has seen him in two years.” Gavin squinted across the garden at the manor.

“I know,” Harry said. “It’s a shame.”

“A shame?”

“Have you ever met him?” Harry asked. “He’s a brilliant wizard. He was dealt a rubbish hand in life and no one really cares to understand. It’s a shame.”

“He’s kind of an arsehole, though, isn’t he?” Gavin asked. “So I’ve heard.”

“That’s true,” Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “But he’s human like anyone else, and being an arsehole isn’t a crime. People shouldn’t have to go into hiding just because they’re arseholes.”

Gavin nodded and considered his words. They went back to watching the auction. Bidding was furious over the painting currently on the block. It was an enormous piece with an elaborately carved gilt frame, something to hang over a gargantuan fireplace. Theo Nott was embroiled in a fierce bidding battle with a matronly witch in a peaked purple hat. Harry didn’t see what was so special about the painting, but the crowd was on the edge of its collective seat as the bid values climbed higher and higher.

“Is that piece special or something?” Harry asked no one in particular.

“It was painted by a famous muggle,” Hermione said. “I’m surprised the Malfoys let muggle art into their home.”

“It was probably purchased by accident,” Gavin said. “They probably had the wrong information about the artist and didn’t realize it was done by a muggle until after it was mounted. And then it seemed like a lot of bother to move it so it stayed.”

“That’s a good theory,” Harry nodded.

“It’s interesting that Theo Nott wants it,” Ron remarked. “He’s as much of a blood purist as the Malfoys.”

“Maybe he’s changed his views,” Harry suggested. “I wouldn’t expect anyone to be the same now as they were before the war.”

“You think the war changed everything, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It did,” Harry said softly.

Gavin leaned over and spoke into Harry’s ear. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked.

Harry did. He really did. But he had told himself no more hookups. No more until he met someone he might want to keep around for a while. That meant getting to know people before getting intimate. He wasn’t sure how to explain that without saying more than he wanted Hermione and Ron to hear.

“I’m sort of looking for a long-term thing right now,” he said in a low voice, hoping his friends wouldn’t hear. “I’m kind of off of the whole one-off thing.” He hoped he wasn’t being too cryptic.

“That’s okay,” Gavin looked a bit disappointed but he smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you around, then.”

“Definitely,” Harry was relieved. That wasn’t as terrible as he’d imagined. Gavin bid him goodbye and departed without a fuss.

“Very mature of you, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Merlin, Hermione, don’t eavesdrop on my conversation.”

“You’re sitting right next to me.”

“I need to go to the loo,” Harry grumbled. He got up and circled around the back of the seating area to the far side of the garden. The food vendors were busy as auction attendees filtered in and out of the seats. It was a bit like a festival, with everyone dressed to be seen and participating good-naturedly in the social event. Malfoy Manor loomed over the tableau, but couldn’t detract from the pleasant demeanor of the crowd.

Harry was relieved to find the outhouses were self-Scourgifying. He had a quick slash and was back outside in short order, then considered how long he should stay. There was still time to rot his brain with low-quality telly. He had the whole next week off but he was loathe to lose even a day of couch-potato time.

He glanced up at the mansion and wondered if Draco passed his days with muggle telly. He had to, right? What else was there to do inside all day, day after day? The manor was enormous, but two years would make any house seem small.

He eyed the second floor balcony, just a slight curve on the face of the structure from this distance. He couldn’t make out a black and white figure this time, but he suspected Draco was up there, monitoring the ticker as the artwork fetched huge prices.

Wait a minute, he could see the balcony again. Which meant Draco had lifted the deflection charm. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked back to the seating area, telling himself that he didn’t care. He didn’t. He really didn’t. But he did still have some unanswered questions. Ron had asked him why Draco was auctioning off all of his belongings. That was a damn good question, really. And it would be a shame not to get an answer, especially if Draco was willing to talk. He certainly didn’t seem willing to talk to anyone else, and if Harry was the only one he would talk to, it would be selfish of him to turn down the opportunity.

He strolled past the back of the seats without a glance at Hermione and Ron. They would want him to go back inside and get answers, he was certain. No need to stop and confirm. He passed the staging area as the bidding war finally ended on the huge muggle painting. A tremendous cheer went up from the audience and he turned just in time to see Theodore Nott stand triumphantly with his number card raised. Must be nice to be one of the absurdly wealthy, Harry thought. He wouldn’t waste two Knuts on something like that.

He stood to the side as a pair of uniformed auction workers maneuvered another painting through the doorway. When they were clear he darted inside and went straight up the stairs, through the bedroom and out onto the balcony as though in a single step.

Draco was lounging on one of the deck chairs, a fresh drink in his hand. He looked up as Harry arrived and smiled warmly for a fraction of a second before smoothing it over with a disinterested air. “Drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” Harry busied himself at the caddy to conceal the smile he wasn’t so skilled at hiding. He was pleased that he had interpreted Draco’s invitation correctly. He realized how foolish it had been to assume the visible balcony meant anything. It would have been embarrassing to arrive to a less welcoming reception.

“Not interested in art?” Draco asked, lazily threading the long strand of ticker tape between his fingers.

“Not even a little bit,” Harry said.

“Bored?”

“I was.”

“Want to help me again?”

“Sure.”


	6. Chapter 6

Draco led Harry out to the hall and down to the master suite at the end of the long corridor. The room was sparsely decorated, clearly having been gutted for auction some time ago. But the center of the space was still dominated by a large, plush bed, which was covered in glittering jewelry.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” Draco said. “I can't decide what should stay and what should go.”

“Your mother is still alive,” Harry said. “Isn’t it her choice?”

“She’s not coming back, Potter. She’s completely mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry didn’t know what else to say.

“I keep wondering if I should keep some of the more sentimental pieces,” Draco said. “But I have absolutely no use for them.”

“Maybe you’ll give them to your wife someday,” Harry suggested.

Draco snorted, “Not likely.”

“You won’t be a pariah forever, Malfoy,” Harry said. “And you’ll make enough off of this auction that I’m sure some lovely lady out there will be willing to put her disgust aside and marry your wealth.” He grinned devilishly.

“Very funny,” Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s not why I laughed.”

“All joking aside, you really won’t be an outcast forever, and you really will meet the right woman someday,” Harry said.

“Potter,” Malfoy groaned. “You’re missing it entirely.”

“What?” Harry peered at the jewelry. What was he missing?

“Anyway, I think I’ll keep the wedding rings at least,” Draco pocketed a pair of gold bands. “And this necklace is the one my mother always wore on Christmas.”

“Then keep it,” Harry said, still wondering what he had missed.

“I bought her that bracelet when I was seven,” Draco pointed at a diamond encrusted bangle.

“Where’d you get that kind of money when you were seven?” Harry demanded. He thought back to his seventh year of life, when his clothes were threadbare, his glasses were cracked, and his socks had so many holes in them that his toes rubbed raw on the insides of his shoes.

“It was really my father’s gift through me,” Draco said. “I guess that answers that. Sell it off.”

“If that’s your criteria, you should start with everything your father bought and put it in the sell pile,” Harry suggested.

Draco swept his arm across the bed and pushed most of the jewelry into a box. Harry didn’t like to see so many lovely pieces jumbled together so he shook his wand out and cast a quick charm for the box to organize itself into neater sections. Draco ignored the effort.

“This was my grandfather’s,” Draco picked up a gold signet ring that had a family crest etched into the flat face and was encircled with blood rubies. “Gold and red, Gryffindor colours,” he said, handing it to Harry.

“Are you giving this to me?” Harry peered at it. “I’m not sure I would wear a ring with the Malfoy family seal on it.”

‘Whatever, put it in the box if you don’t like it,” Draco waved his hand negligently as he picked through the remaining pile of rings.

Harry pocketed it. Seemed like a shame to just dump it in with the rest, he told himself. “What about that necklace?” he pointed at a delicate silver chain with an enormous harlequin opal pendant.

“That was a gift from me to my mother when I was fifteen,” Draco said softly. “That’s probably the last present I ever gave her.”

“Keep it,” Harry said.

“I got it from Borgin and Burkes,” Draco said, his voice turning harsh. “I nicked it when Mr. Burkes was in the back. It’s stolen.”

“I see,” Harry understood his reluctance. “Do you think you should give it back?”

“No,” Draco said. “Harlequin opals are used extensively in dark magic. If I gave it back it would just end up in the hands of someone who intended to do harm.”

“Then keep it,” Harry said firmly. “Keep it as a reminder.”

Draco looked up. He stared at Harry, as though trying to be sure he understood his meaning. Harry held his gaze to show he meant what Draco thought he meant. Finally Draco nodded and moved the necklace to the keep pile.

He talked his way through the rest of the jewelry, convincing himself to keep some pieces, but ultimately moving the bulk to the box for selling. He started to lift the heavy load to move it downstairs for auctioning, but Harry gently removed it from his hands. He cast a levitate spell with his wand and nudged it along in front of him with an exaggerated sigh of mock-exasperation.

“This is why wands exist, Malfoy,” he said. “I don’t know how you, of all people, could forget that.”

Malfoy’s expression underwent an absurd evolution, from annoyance to outrage to surprise, to appreciation, to mirrored exasperation. “Is it the law now that I have to use magic?”

“Of course not,” Harry guided the box down the front stairs, following closely behind. “But it’s daft not to.” He looked back at Draco, who had stopped at the top step. “You nutter, get down here.”

“No,” Draco took a step back. “Just put it in the dining room and mark it as jewelry. The movers will find it.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” Harry extended his hand. “It’s your house. It will be okay.”

“I need to check the ticker,” Draco turned on his heel and retreated to his bedroom.

Harry didn’t understand. He wasn’t just hiding from the world outside, he was even hiding from the tiny bit of the world that had encroached on the first floor. How could he be scared to walk around his own house?

He deposited the box in the dining room and went back up to the second floor. He found Draco standing at the balcony railing, facing the auction, but his mind was clearly preoccupied. Harry joined him at the railing and leaned on his elbows, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Draco sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, too. They gazed out over the seating area, where guests fanned themselves with their artwork brochures, and numbered bidding cards popped up and down around the crowd. The tireless auctioneer called and pointed, although they were too far away to distinguish his words.

They were nearly shoulder to shoulder, just the smallest gap between their biceps. Harry had started working out when he joined up with the Ministry of Magic and he could tell that his arms were bigger than Draco’s. But he could also tell that Draco was no longer the worn, skinny boy he had become while under the strain of Voldemort’s command. As he was thinking that, he felt something brush across his fingertips.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Were those Draco’s fingers? Was that intentional? What was he getting at? But before it could happen again the gavel cracked down below and the ticker chattered out another length of tape. Draco bent over and inspected it, then returned to the deck chair with a sigh.

“It’s not as hard as I thought it would be,” he said, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. “But preparing for this weekend has been exhausting. I'm completely knackered."

“I would imagine so,” Harry said, deciding the contact must have been a mistake. “Especially if you’re not using your wand.” He sat in the other chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Why aren’t you using your wand?”

Draco yawned and stretched his legs out, too, crossing them at the ankles. He rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Harry understood fully that he did not intend to answer.

“Why aren’t you using your wand?” he repeated stubbornly.

“Because I don’t need to.”

“Well of course most things can be done without magic,” Harry said. “But it’s not always about need. Sometimes it’s about making life easier.”

“My life is easier without it,” Draco stood up suddenly and went into the bedroom. Harry heard the bathroom door close and understood the conversation was over.

He didn’t know whether to stay or go. He suspected Draco enjoyed having someone to talk to, even his old school rival. But he wasn’t sure he had an open invitation. He heard another gavel strike and a cheer from down below. The auction was going swimmingly, and items were moving fast. He wondered if they would be able to keep the momentum up for three days. Based on the schedule he knew people would be back in droves on Sunday for the magical artifacts auction. He was certainly interested in attending that portion of the event, too. Undoubtedly it would be the toughest part of the weekend to avoid being called into duty, but he wanted to know what the Malfoys had in their collection.

He went to the railing again and squinted down at the crowd. He wished he had a pair of Omnioculars with him so he could get a better look. He was nearly certain he could pick out Ron in the crowd just on hair colour alone. It would be futile to search for Gavin's standard brunet hair. Maybe he should have taken him up on his offer of a walk.

The french doors opened and closed and Draco appeared beside him again. Harry didn’t press the wand issue. He figured he should try to respect his boundaries. Speaking of which, he wondered what would happen if he brushed Malfoy’s fingers with his own. Not that he wanted to, but it would be telling at the very least. It would tell him whether the first contact had been accidental. Which seemed worth knowing.

“Many of those people down there think you’re dead,” Harry said to distract himself from the impulse.

“So I’ve heard,” Draco smirked.

“They say you haunt the halls of Malfoy Manor, crying for your lost childhood.”

“Aye, my lost childhood,” Draco sighed dramatically. “If I was going to haunt someplace, I’d pick somewhere happier than this.”

“You weren’t happy here?” That surprised Harry.

“When I was very young, sure,” Draco shrugged. “Everyone’s early years are happy.”

“Mine weren’t.”

“Raised by muggles, how could they be?” Draco said. When he saw Harry’s expression his eyebrow lost its amused quirk. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What did you just say?” Harry was stunned. “Did you just say I’m sorry?”

“What? Me?” Draco stepped back and feigned shock. “You must be hearing things.”

“You said I’m sorry,” Harry couldn’t help smiling. Plus, it was a good distraction from thinking about the Dursleys. “I never thought I would live to see the day when Draco Malfoy apologized.”

“I must be coming down with something,” Draco laid his hand across his forehead. “Definitely. All of the strain of the auction must have lowered my resistance.”

Harry flipped his wand into his hand and conjured a sheet of parchment. He flicked and words burned their way across the page. “Let it be known that on this day Draco Malfoy did apologize to Harry Potter. Mr. Malfoy was not under duress at the time, and appeared to be sincere.”

“Give me that,” Draco jumped up with a grin and swiped at the parchment. Harry flicked his wand and lofted it out of reach. Draco lunged at his wand and tried to force it down. He gripped Harry’s hand in his, futilely directing swishes and flicks and having absolutely no effect on the parchment whatsoever.

Harry laughed and pushed at Draco’s other arm. His hand slipped beneath it and grasped him by the ribs, “Piss off, you tosser,” he chuckled. Draco doubled over and squirmed with startled laughter. “Great Merlin’s ghost, you’re ticklish!” Harry exclaimed. He redoubled his grip on Draco’s ribs and fluttered his fingers.

Draco yelped and tried to leap away but Harry seized his shoulder and pulled him close. Draco’s hands found their way to Harry’s waist and pushed at him as Harry tickled mercilessly. He knew struggling in close quarters was a good way to end up with a black eye but he didn’t care. The discovery that Malfoy was ticklish was just too good.

“Oh gods, stop!” Draco shrieked. He swiped at Harry’s arms and twisted, and somehow managed to get his hand on Harry’s wand again. He wrenched it away and leaped back, completely disarming Harry, to their mutual surprise.

Harry’s humor dried up in an instant. Being disarmed was no laughing matter. It meant his wand now responded to Draco until it was returned to him. And Draco would be able to use his wand against him, if he so chose. He swallowed hard, wishing he’d followed Auror protocol and packed a backup wand.

He flashed back to the war, to the skirmish that took place in this very mansion, when Harry had managed to disarm Draco and take control of his hawthorn wand. That one incident had given Harry control of the Elder wand, which had ultimately enabled him to defeat Voldemort. Harry didn’t know whether Draco was aware of the significance of that event.

Draco stared at Harry’s wand in his hand. Harry didn’t grab for it, he didn’t make a move. He waited for Draco to decide what he wanted to do. If he chose to be hostile, then Harry would deal with it when it came. But if, on the other hand, he chose to--

“Here,” Draco handed it over. He sat and scanned through the most recent length of ticker tape that had clattered out of the Edison machine.

Harry was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. He had expected more struggle, some kind of internal debate over whether to keep it or use it or yield control. He had expected to perhaps negotiate for its return. He hadn’t expected to just end up with it back in his hand without so much as a discussion.

He sat down hard in his chair and stowed his wand back up his sleeve.

“Some Auror you are,” Draco said without looking up. “A toddler could disarm you.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said. Draco shot a smirk over his shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

A short while later Noddy brought a rolling cart with afternoon tea out onto the balcony. She drew over a small table and laid out a pair of cups and plates, and several little cakes with jam. Clearly she thought Harry was included, but he didn't want to assume Draco had the same expectation.

"How does Harry Potter take his tea?" Noddy poured a cup and held the sugar tongs expectantly. Harry glanced nervously at Draco, who was pulling his chair up close to the table. 

"What are you looking at me for, you git?" Draco asked. "However many lumps you take can't possibly lower you in my eyes."

"Two lumps, thank you," Harry figured that answered that.

"The glazed lemon ones are my favorites," Draco raised the plate of cakes for Harry to choose.

He selected a glazed one and tried a bite. "Lovely," he agreed.

He marveled that he was enjoying tea with a man he'd nearly accidentally killed just a few years ago. Somehow, without discussing it or arguing about it or seeking revenge they had put the rather serious matters of life and death behind them. They could eat glazed lemon cake with tea and pretend none of it had happened. At least for now.

"I haven't had a guest for tea in a long time," Draco carefully sipped from his cup.

It couldn't possibly be hot, Harry thought, not after the amount of milk he'd added. Unless Malfoy's mouth was particularly sensitive. The thought of his sensitive mouth made Harry's own mouth water. He shoved another bite of lemon cake in to hide it. 

"I haven't had real tea in a long time," he said with his mouth full. "It's usually instant tea and a biscuit. All I have time for most days."

"Barbaric," Draco said without irony.

"Does Noddy do all of your shopping for you, then?" Harry asked. "If I wanted to disappear completely I'd starve within a week."

"I have other staff," Draco said vaguely. "Plus I get out sometimes."

"When are you getting out? No one's seen you at all," Harry's Batman hopes rose again. 

"There are ways to conceal your identity, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes. "Any Auror should know that."

"Really?" Harry sat back and eyed him with renewed curiosity. So he was only a total shut-in as far as his own identity went. He wondered what techniques he was using. Aurors were trained in a number of identity concealing or deflecting methods, but the general public didn't often learn them. "Would you show me?"

"Absolutely not," Draco selected another cake and smeared jam all over it. "The last thing I need is you bungling it out in public and calling me by name."

"It explains why you're more well-adjusted than I thought you would be," Harry said. "You're not completely without human contact."

"No, I get plenty of human contact," Draco said. "I'm not a monk. I never took a vow of celibacy."

"Oh," Harry suddenly realized what he was getting at. "So you're dating in disguise? Doesn't that seem a bit immoral?"

"I wouldn't call it dating," Draco said dryly. "If two strangers hook up for one night, what does it matter which face they wear?"

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Harry thought of his own anonymous hookups. Well, semi-anonymous. Harry's face and scar were too well-known for him to be anonymous. Even if he ditched his glasses he would still be recognized. 

"You've never hooked up with someone once and gone your separate ways?" Draco asked. 

"Well," Harry fondled his teacup for distraction. "Of course I have." He thought of Gavin, just outside of the walls where he was having this very discussion. "It's not my preference, though."

"What's your preference?"

"I got out of a relationship a couple of months ago and I've had a few one-offs here and there since then.,” Harry said. “But I think I’m better at relationships than I am at anonymous sex."

Oops. He'd said the S-word. He blushed and increased his teacup fiddling ten-fold.

"I know about Oliver Wood," Draco said gently. "It was in the paper."

"Most people disregarded that as libelous rumor," Harry pointed out. 

"It's not, though, is it?"

Harry shifted in his chair. He hadn't intended to discuss this with his former enemy. It could only lead to ugliness. Draco Malfoy was not known for his tolerance.

"I've never quite understood what everyone sees in Oliver Wood," Draco mused over the rim of his cup. "A bit of an oaf if you ask me. Not nearly as handsome as everyone says."

Harry was caught between two thoughts. First, he was defensive of the overt criticism of his taste in men. Oliver Wood was fit and everyone knew it. On the other hand he was confused about Draco's assessment of his looks. Was it an empirical observation or was he an invested party? Did Draco Malfoy like boys?

It wasn't something he felt he could ask. He shrugged as though he couldn't care less about Oliver Wood's good looks. Draco watched him with hooded eyes, but his dispassionate mask had returned, making it impossible to know whether he had drawn any conclusions. 

"I have another task I could use help with," he said finally, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "It's up to you, I know you have friends out there waiting for you."

"They're fine," Harry waved his hand. "They think I'm in here pumping you for information so they don't care how long I'm gone."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No," Harry said, worried that he'd said the wrong thing. "I'll admit I'm curious, but I'm not here to get a scoop for the paper or something."

"Why are you here?"

"I don't know," Harry met his gaze. Draco's gray eyes were clear and focused. "Maybe to convince you to come out of hiding."

"What do you care?" There was no hostility in Draco's tone.

"I don't think you should disappear," Harry decided to be completely honest. "I think you have something to share with the world and the idea of you fading away makes me sad." He wadded up his napkin and tucked it under the rim of his plate. "You're a total wanker but the world needs a few wankers."

"What about you?" Draco asked softly.

"Do I need a wanker?" Harry chuckled. "I guess maybe I do."

"Well I'm not saying I'm offering to fill that vacancy," Draco stood and went to inspect the ticker tape again.

Harry had to smile to himself. Those little arrogant moments were good to see. Draco wouldn't be Draco without his ego. It was all fine and good for him to contemplate reformation, even to regret his ways and become more charitable. But if he lost his pompous arrogance completely he wouldn't be the person Harry remembered. 

His breath hitched. He belatedly caught the double meaning in their words. Oh Merlin, what a Freudian slip that was.

"So you said you have a task to do?" he asked quickly.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Potion supplies."

"Lead the way."

They went downstairs via the servant stairway and arrived in the kitchen. Draco turned and headed towards the far end of the house and waved his hand to lift the protective wards on a door that led into the tower. Harry gasped as an enormous potions lab was revealed before his eyes. It was comparable to anything he'd seen at school or at the Ministry. It was well stocked with ingredients and tools and was neatly maintained. 

"My father's first love," Draco said. "Even before family."

"I always wondered how you had such skill in potions class," Harry murmured. 

"I've had potions theory pounded into my head since I was a child," Draco said. "That and other things."

"You honestly want to auction it all off?" Harry opened a cabinet and gawked at the wealth of jars and bottles. 

"I'll keep a few items," Draco said, joining Harry and reaching over his shoulder to pluck a dropper bottle from the top shelf. "I don't have much use for potions these days, aside from one or two."

"No wand, no potions," Harry turned and glanced at his schoolmate over his shoulder. Draco was standing very close. "Are you giving it all up?"

"Obviously not all of it," Draco said, not backing up or looking away.

"But most of it," Harry turned his shoulders so they were mostly facing each other. Draco still didn't back up. 

They looked at each other for a long moment that dragged out endlessly. Harry's fingers twitched, wanting to reach up and touch the other man's ear.

"It's better if I auction it off," Draco said finally, his lips just barely forming the words. He broke eye contact and reached past Harry again. "What am I going to do with a kilo of ground stag antler, anyway?"

"A kilo is a lot," Harry thought through the potions he knew that called for that ingredient. Most required a gram or two at most.

"Same rules apply," Draco turned and went to a different cabinet. "Sellable items on the table near the door. Dangerous ingredients over here."

“You could get a lot of money for the dangerous items,” Harry said as he began to sort.

“I could also get a lot of money in some circles for the head of the Boy who Lived,” Draco glanced over. “But you don’t see me honing my knife over here, do you?”

“So the good news is that you don’t want me dead anymore,” Harry chuckled.

“I never really wanted you dead,” Draco said. “Not in reality.”

“I never wanted you dead either,” Harry said. He looked up guiltily, knowing they were both thinking of the Sectumsempra incident. “I’m sorry.”

Draco’s hands dropped to his sides. He grasped the hem of his shirt and yanked it free from his trousers, then hauled it up to expose his pale chest. A silvery line of scar tissue traced his skin diagonally from his shoulder to his hip. He said nothing, but stared intensely at Harry and waited for a reaction.

Harry’s stomach clenched. He had done that. He had used a spell he wasn’t familiar with in anger and had nearly sliced Draco in two. If Professor Snape hadn’t been there-- He couldn’t finish the thought. He stepped closer and raised his hand hesitantly. Draco didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Harry drew his fingertips down the length of the scar, feeling the way it carved a dip into the surrounding skin. Draco’s stomach muscles tensed but he allowed Harry to touch him.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered. Against his wishes his eyes welled up with tears. He had almost--

“It’s okay,” Draco said, releasing his shirt and smoothing it down over his body. “I just thought you should see it.”

“I would never--” Harry swallowed hard and shook his head. He blinked rapidly and ducked his head.

“It’s really okay,” Draco touched his shoulder. “Merlin knows I earned it.” He went back to the cabinet as though he hadn’t just exposed the permanent reminder of the worst thing Harry had ever done.

Harry slowly went back to his own sorting. He swiped at his eyes and tried to shove the guilt down where it couldn’t well up on him again.

“It’s kept me up at night,” he said softly. “Sometimes I can’t sleep for hours, thinking about it. I can’t shave without a protective charm. I don’t own any sharp knives for cooking.”

“Don’t be daft,” Draco said. “It’s just a scar.”

“If it was just a scar you wouldn’t have shown it to me,” Harry said.

Draco didn’t argue. They worked silently, sorting out common items from dark, dangerous ingredients. Some of the bottles contained ingredients that made Harry wince, and he moved them to the table behind him without lingering. But then he found something that he couldn’t simply move past.

“Oh,” he breathed, holding a small phial in the palm of his hand. It glimmered darkly, a deep red that was reticulated with fine black threads.

Draco gently removed the phial from his hands and nodded grimly. “It’s sullied,” he said. He turned to place it on the table with the other dangerous items.

“You can’t just set unicorn blood aside like that,” Harry retrieved it again. “You have to release it.”

“I can’t do that,” Draco said. “Sullied unicorn blood can only be released by pure remorse.”

“You don’t feel remorse?”

“I didn’t take that unicorn’s blood,” Draco said. “I didn’t even know we had it.”

“It doesn’t have to be remorse for the blood itself.”

“I’m not doing the spell, Potter. Leave it be,” Draco scowled and went back to his cabinet.

Harry watched him angrily yank bottles and bags off of the shelves and place them behind him. He fondled the phial and slipped it into his pocket. It clinked against the signet ring he’d placed in their earlier. He hoped Draco hadn’t noticed.

The sorting took longer than either of them anticipated. After a while the tension dissolved on its own and the mood lifted. Draco took a break from his cabinet and poked through Harry’s sell pile, extracting this and that item to keep. He set the things he wished to retain over on the cutting block, then went back to sorting. Harry pushed his hair back from his forehead and sighed. His hands were sticky with residue and he was certain the smell of some of the more potent ingredients had penetrated his clothing. He braced his hands against the small of his back and stretched, then rolled the kinks out of his neck. He wandered over to the keep pile and had a look at the items Draco had set aside.

“Polyjuice?” he asked, hefting a jar of boomslang skin. “Is that what you’re keeping these for?”

Draco didn’t answer. He busied himself reading the faded label on an old burlap sack.

“Is that how you’ve gotten out over the last two years? Are you using Polyjuice?” Harry asked again.

“Here and there,” Draco said, then hefted the sack to the sell table.

“Who are you disguising yourself as?”

“No one important,” Draco said. “Muggles, mostly.”

“Muggles, plural?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“Sure, depending on circumstance,” Draco shrugged.

“How many? How often?”

“It’s not really your business,” Draco finally looked him in the eye.

Harry frowned. He wondered how often Draco was Polyjuicing himself. It confirmed that his reluctance wasn’t about going out. It was about going out in his own face. Harry hated the idea that he would hide his face away forever. He had to convince him that things would change, that he wouldn’t be hated forever. Giving in to the isolation would only serve to solidify the perception that he deserved to be isolated. He would only regain his place in society if he refused to give up. Polyjuicing every time he went out was giving up.

“Supper is served, Master Draco,” Noddy Apparated in the corridor outside of the potions room. “Will Harry Potter be joining Master Draco this evening?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. “I could tell Ron and Hermione that I’m not leaving with them, I guess,” Harry said carefully. He didn’t want to presume.

“Keep it warm until Mr. Potter gets back, Noddy,” Draco said. “You’ll probably also want to wash up before eating.”

“I think I need a change of clothes, too,” Harry plucked at his shirt distastefully. “How about I pop home for a shower and a change and come back?”

“Whatever,” Draco said nonchalantly. “They’re probably about to shut down the gazebo Floo for the night. Use the one in my bedroom. Say Draco’s Bedroom for your destination.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. He headed outside and realized with a start that the sun was low in the sky. With the drapes drawn it was easy to lose track of time in the mansion. The seats were rapidly emptying as day one of the auction drew to a close. Uniformed workers were busy clearing the staging area back into the house while attendees lined up to use the gazebo Floo. Harry found Hermione and Ron halfway back in the line and waved as he crossed the garden. Their eyes bugged out and Hermione squealed his name.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Have you been with Malfoy all this time? What are you doing? What is he doing? Do you have any answers? You smell terrible.”

“He told me a lot,” Harry nodded. “I’ve been helping him sort things for the auction. I’m covered in potion residue.”

“What have you seen? Anything we should plan on bidding on?” Ron rubbed his hands together greedily.

“Some pretty amazing jewelry,” Harry nodded. “But it won’t go cheap. And there will be lots of potion ingredients, some pretty rare stuff. You two might think of bidding to stock up the Hogwarts supply cabinet.”

“Have you seen anything awful?” Hermione asked.

Harry thought of the sullied unicorn blood in his pocket. He pressed his lips together and nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look.

“Be careful in there, mate,” Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You and Malfoy have always had a way of getting tangled up. Watch that you don’t get tangled up in his madness.”

“He’s not mad,” Harry said. “He’s,” he paused, not sure how to describe it. “He’s broken. Not fully, but enough.”

“You can’t fix everyone,” Hermione reminded him. “And Malfoy might be beyond repair.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Harry smiled weakly. He stepped away. “I shouldn’t cut in line. I’ll go to the back.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Hermione called as he retreated.

“Yes,” he called back. “I’ll see you here in the morning.”

He walked down to the end of the line of attendees just as a familiar face was crossing the garden. Gavin smiled and extended his hand. Harry shook it with a polite nod.

“Bid on anything today?” the other man asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I’m not really interested in buying anything.”

“There were some good items put up, but tomorrow should be better,” Gavin remarked, holding up the schedule flyer.

“I’m sure it will be.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. He was still uncomfortable. It was hard to face someone he’d had an anonymous encounter with. He knew a mature man would be able to separate his public self from his private self, but he didn’t feel particularly mature about it.

“Harry,” another familiar voice called from behind him.

“Oliver,” Harry turned with a tense smile. Gavin turned and looked, too. He raised his eyebrows at Harry. “Gavin, Oliver, Oliver, Gavin.” he said quickly.

“Is this your new beau?” Oliver asked condescendingly. Harry was immediately insulted. Gavin was a perfectly good looking man, maybe not as easy on the eyes as Oliver himself, but certainly eye-catching.

“No, we’re acquaintances,” Gavin said quickly, much to Harry’s relief. He didn’t need more rumors circulating about his relations.

“I heard you’ve been getting around,” Oliver wasn’t even trying to be subtle or polite. Harry had really hoped two months would be enough for him to get over their petty differences.

“Not anymore,” Harry said. “That was just a phase.” Oliver nodded sympathetically, as though Harry’s admission was a bit pathetic. He felt Gavin tense up at his elbow.

“Perhaps he just needed to prove to himself that lovers like you are a dime a dozen,” the brunette man said with a pleasant lilt to his voice. Oliver scowled. Harry was surprised by Gavin’s presumptuous entry into the exchange.

“And how much do you cost?” Oliver sneered. Gavin’s expression darkened.

“Oi,” Harry stepped between them and planted a hand on each man’s chest. “Let’s keep it civil.” Oliver snorted and looked away. Gavin ducked his head and apologized. “I hear you’re a stepfather now,” Harry said.

“Indeed,” Oliver’s expression brightened. “Talia is a brilliant child. Sorted into Slytherin, though.”

“How wonderful,” Gavin said. “She’s destined for greatness, then.”

“You’re talking to two Gryffindors,” Harry laughed. “Slytherin greatness is a tough sell.”

“Well,” Gavin patted his pockets and looked up in surprise. “Pardon me, I seem to have misplaced my pocketwatch. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry,” he said Harry’s name with a curiously soft inflection, like he was tasting the shape of it on his tongue. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Oliver.”

“You should snatch that one up,” Oliver said as he watched the other man walk away.. “He’s definitely into you.”

“I’m not into him,” Harry said, glancing up at the mansion. The balcony was still visible to him, he noted with relief.

“It’s been two months,” Oliver said. “It’s time to move on.”

“What?” Harry laughed. “You think I’ve been pining over you? Don’t be daft.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Oliver said with saccharine insincerity.

“No you don’t,” Harry laughed again. “That was never on your agenda.”

Oliver frowned. “Fine. If that’s how you want it to be then fine. I wish you well.” And with that he flounced up the length of the line until he found a friend who would let him cut in front of him. And who would object to a national Quidditch player’s cuts?

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He could have done without that encounter.


	8. Chapter 8

When it was finally Harry’s turn to use the Floo he went straight home and climbed directly into the shower. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, but finally he felt like all of the residue and smells were gone. He dressed quickly and packed a quick bag, wondering if he was being presumptuous. He rehearsed a quick excuse if it turned out the invitation to stay was not extended and hefted a palmful of Floo powder. It had been an hour and a half since he had departed Malfoy Manor. He hoped supper wasn’t ruined.

“Draco’s bedroom,” he called and stepped into the emerald flames. He stepped out into the familiar cluttered room with the balcony at the far end. Poking his head through the French doors, he smiled when Draco looked up with visible relief on his face. He was scanning through a long strand of ticker tape and making marks here and there with a quill.

“You’re back,” he stood. His eyes flicked to the bag that hung from Harry’s shoulder.

“I brought a change of clothes in case there’s more potion work to be done,” he said quickly. Too quickly, maybe. But it was important for Draco to know that he didn’t intend it to be an overnight bag. If it turned out to be, that was fine, but it didn’t need to be. He didn’t assume it was.

A knowing smile graced Draco’s lips. He gestured for Harry to leave it in the room through the other set of French doors. Then they descended the servant stairs to the kitchen. Noddy had kept supper warm and the table was set with a nice set of china and a pair of candlesticks. Both men stopped in the doorway, taken aback by the somewhat romantic setting before them. Draco cleared his throat and pulled at his shirt collar. Harry propped his hands on his hips and cocked his head.

“It’s fine,” Draco said finally. “It’s, you know.”

“It’s fine,” Harry agreed.

They sat and Noddy served the first course. She was a brilliant cook, and Harry told her as much. She squeaked with delight and hid her face in her hands. The second course was a beautiful ratatouille, filled with fresh vegetables. Harry wanted to melt out of his chair, it was so good.

“The eggplant is perfect,” Draco remarked. “Did you get any?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry poked around his serving with his fork.

“Here, have a bite,” Draco speared a piece and extended it across the table. Harry grasped his hand to steady the utensil and accepted the bite.

“It really is good,” he agreed, accidentally holding Draco’s hand just a moment too long.

“You have something there,” Draco extended his napkin and gently swiped the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Harry hoped the candlelight would conceal his blushing cheeks.

Noddy served the rest of the meal and they managed to finish without any more embarrassing contact. When they were done they returned to the potions lab to wrap up the sorting work. It was nearing eleven o’clock by the time they were finished.

“I need another shower,” Draco opened and closed his fists to show how sticky his fingers were.

“Me, too,” Harry pointed out a dark streak that had stained the skin on his right forearm. “Good thing I brought a change of clothes.” He looked up suddenly, realizing he was making an assumption. He stammered and clarified, “Not that I need to shower here, I mean.”

“You’re welcome to,” Draco said softly. “It’s late, if you just want to sleep here, that’s fine. The guest room is prepared.”

“Okay,” Harry said too quickly. He wished he could smack himself in the forehead without being too obvious about his self-dismay.

They dragged themselves up the tower stairs to the second floor. Draco let Harry have the shower first and waited out on the balcony while he bathed. The bathroom was luxuriously appointed, with clean white marble tile and an enormous soaking tub beside a shower chamber that was bigger than Harry’s bedroom back at his flat. Multiple shower heads were positioned around the space, creating the intoxicating sensation of bathing underneath a warm waterfall. 

Harry scrubbed slowly, enjoying the relaxing warmth and thinking about the night ahead. The bed in the guest room looked as plush and comfortable as the one in Draco’s room. Both beds were big, certainly big enough for two people. He slipped his hand down and rubbed his cock lightly. Draco was consolidating everything into one room anyway, Harry could offer to keep the guest room clean by sharing his oversized bed. He smiled at the absurd thought and fantasized about curling up amidst the luxurious bedding, touching skin and stroking cocks. He tugged himself while leaning against the tile wall as the warm water washed over him. He thought about skin and taste and touch and he stroked himself to climax. He came silently, then sighed as the water washed away the evidence of his humiliating fantasy about his longtime rival. That should take the edge off, he thought. It would prevent him from doing anything embarrassing until morning.

He climbed out and wrapped a plush white towel around his waist. Still dripping, he exited the bathroom and pushed the French doors open.

“Your turn,” he called softly. Draco looked up and gaped at the sight of Harry’s wet, half-naked body. Harry felt himself stiffen under his stare. Draco closed his mouth and swallowed hard. He mumbled something about finishing up and turned back to his quill and ticker tape. Harry went back inside and flopped onto the guest bed. He knew he should get dressed, but he was completely exhausted from the hours of sorting work. He sprawled on top of the quilt and stared up at the ceiling, tracing the golden light and shadow from the single lamp with his eyes.

He heard the bathroom door open and close and then the shower taps crank. He tried not to think about Draco in there, lathering his firm supple body beneath the spray. He imagined rivulets of water following the diagonal slant of the scar down his chest from his shoulder to his hip and thought about chasing droplets down the groove with his tongue. His towel threatened to tent over his rapidly hardening cock. He rolled onto his side to make the problem a little less apparent.

The tap turned and the shower cut off, and he could just make out the sound of wet feet on tile as Draco climbed out. He listened intently as Draco padded around the bathroom and waited for the sound of the door to his room opening and closing. Instead the handle on the guest room door turned, and then it slowly swung inward.

Harry sat up and took in the sight of Draco Malfoy, dripping and wrapped in a plush white towel. The pale scar across his chest stood out in the lamplight and his tousled blond hair deposited droplets around him on the floor. He stared silently at Harry, his chest rising and falling as his breath quickened. Harry let his towel fall to the side, revealing his erect cock. Draco’s eyes flicked down and hungrily took in the sight. He looked back up and ravaged Harry’s face, clearly needing an invitation. Harry extended his hand to summon the other man across the room.

Draco rushed to him and pushed him down onto the mattress, losing his own towel in the process. He pressed his mouth to Harry’s and moaned as Harry kissed him back. Harry grabbed on tight and moved them up to the head of the bed. He stroked his fingers along the dampness of Draco’s arse, tracing droplets in circles and lines. Draco pushed his cock against Harry’s with urgency and raked his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry wrapped his arms around his middle and held him close as he pushed past Draco’s lips and explored with his tongue. Draco yielded under his touch, completely at Harry’s command. Harry rolled them over so that Draco was beneath him and nestled his legs between the other man’s knees.

He released Draco’s mouth with a wet smack. “I don’t do hookups anymore,” he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a risky thing to say. But it needed to be said. It needed to be said before he went any further.

“I know,” Draco whispered back, gently tracing the line of Harry’s jaw with his finger.

“If we do it once, I’m probably going to want to do it again,” Harry added. He slid his hand between them and stroked Draco’s bollocks.

Draco nodded and licked his lips hungrily. Harry swept in and kissed him, his hand still stroking. They pushed against each other and touched sensitive places, their arousal filling the air around them. Harry indulged his fantasy and ducked his head to lick and kiss his way down the length of Draco’s scar. Every kiss was an apology, a mix of desire and remorse that couldn’t be expressed with words.

Draco drew Harry back up to his mouth and kissed along his jaw up to his forehead. He nuzzled Harry’s famous lightning scar with his lips and kissed it so delicately that it was like a whisper. Harry opened his eyes and stared down at his former enemy. Gaze still locked, he slipped his hand between them and traced his finger around Draco’s entrance. Draco’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth went slack.

He gasped as Harry slipped inside and nodded encouragingly. Harry crooked his finger and stroked come hither across his prostate, eliciting a strangled groan from the other man’s throat. He kissed up Draco’s neck and sucked his earlobe into his mouth as he slipped a second finger in. Draco pushed back as though eager for more, his arms curled around Harry’s back with desperate longing. Harry slipped a third finger in and scissored gently, encouraging the muscles to relax and accept the intrusion.

When he felt like Draco was ready he whispered a protection and lubrication charm, and then slipped his hand free. He raised his head and looked deeply into Draco’s eyes again, searching for any sign of reluctance. He saw only desire. Holding his gaze, he tilted his hips and pushed past Draco’s entrance, their eyes locked together as the full penetration drew them closer than Harry had ever dreamed possible. Draco struggled not to close his eyes against the sensation of being entered, instead grasping two handfuls of Harry’s hair and holding his face above his. His gray irises shone as Harry held them with his own, and he breathed deeply as Harry began to push.

Harry had never maintained eye contact before. It was incredibly intense, the most intimate connection he had ever experienced. He stayed fixated on Draco’s eyes and thrust slowly at first, then with more pressure and speed. Draco obediently stared back, barely blinking as Harry pushed inside of him, deeper and deeper.

They made love intensely, bodies locked in rhythm as the heat rose between them. Harry swept Draco’s mouth up in his own and imagined his cock and his tongue meeting in the middle. Draco groaned in ecstasy and welcomed the deep kiss. His breath shortened and he whimpered as Harry thrust faster, and his fingers dug into his back. He pulled Harry’s hair one moment, squeezed his arse the next, and grasped his shoulders a moment later, all the while moaning and begging for more. Harry wished it could last forever, this moment in time when the climax was building to an incredible rush, the man beneath him desperate with need, his body pulsating with the imminent peak of orgasm.

Draco cried out, his back arching and his knees rising up. He pushed against Harry’s cock and his muscles clenched furiously as he came in shockwaves. Harry was swept up in the tide and crested himself, shouting to the ceiling as he came inside of Draco, waves of ecstatic pleasure pouring through his veins. They thrashed together inelegantly as they were caught up in the moment, then slowed and finally released with a gasp. Harry kissed Draco’s neck, tasting the salty sweat that had formed there, and slipped free. He waved his hand for a quick clean-up and then collapsed into Draco’s embrace.

Draco lightly stroked his fingertips down Harry’s arm as he caught his breath. Harry raised his head and checked the other man’s face for any sign of regret. Draco smiled as he slid his hand up to Harry’s ear and drew him down for a kiss. Harry obeyed gratefully and kissed him back, again and again, telling himself he wouldn’t stop until Draco wanted to. They kissed on and on, holding each other close and pressing their mouths together as though making up for lost time. Finally Draco withdrew and butted their foreheads together.

Harry still hadn’t had enough. He kissed Draco’s chin and his nose and his forehead. Then up his jaw line to his ear. Then he pressed each knuckle on both hands to his lips, then kissed his fingertips. Draco laughed and pulled him into an embrace. Harry kissed his shoulders, kissed his neck, kissed the dip between his collar bones, then worked his way back up to his mouth again. He wasn’t sure at what point sleep set in, but when it did, they were still in each other’s arms, kissing and kissing and kissing until the world faded away.


	9. Chapter 9

The crack of a gavel jolted Harry from his slumber. He opened his eyes and blearily took in the unfamiliar room as the warm body in his arms stirred restlessly. Draco rolled onto his back and looked up at Harry, his expression hesitant and nervous. Harry smiled and lightly stroked his finger down Draco’s nose to his lips.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

“Good morning,” Draco whispered back.

“Feeling all right?” Harry infused a lot of meaning into those three words.

Draco nodded quickly with a brave smile. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“I will be once I get up and moving,” Harry said. “But first,” he cupped Draco's cheek in his hand and kissed him deeply. Draco yielded beneath his touch. They moved slowly together, savoring the feeling of skin on skin. Harry was true to his word, he didn’t want it only once. He wanted it again and again. And he found Draco was as eager for a repeat performance.

With impeccable timing, Noddy appeared at the door a few minutes after they finished, just enough so that they didn’t feel interrupted. She pushed the breakfast cart onto the balcony and set out two servings without asking. They dressed and emerged into the clean, fresh morning air for food.

Harry sipped his tea at the railing and squinted over the crowd. He saw a glint of red hair and spotted Ginny. A second glint of red hair was Ron’s. They were sitting together with their significant others. He turned and peered at the former Slytherin.

“You wouldn’t consider going out there with me, would you?” he knew the answer, and Draco knew he knew the answer.

“No,” he shook his head.

“If you were with me it would be different,” Harry said.

“There are limits to even your power, Saint Potter,” Draco said. “Your popularity can’t fix what’s wrong with me. I can’t let anyone out there see me.”

“Fuck everyone else,” Harry said firmly. “Fuck them all. You’re Draco fucking Malfoy. No one tells you where you can and can’t go.”

“I wish it was that easy,” Draco said sadly. “I haven’t been Draco fucking Malfoy in a long time.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry’s heart hurt to hear those words.

“Should you go down and let your friends know you’re still alive?” Draco not so subtly changed the subject. “They’ll probably think I sucked your blood or ate your brain or whatever theory of my current status they subscribe to.”

“I should,” Harry nodded. “You should come with me.”

“No,” Draco shook his head again. “I really can’t.”

“I’ll let you tell everyone I’m your sex slave now,” Harry said in a sing-song voice, as though dangling a tempting idea before him.

“Go,” Draco shoved at his shoulder. “Don’t feel like you have to hurry or anything. Come back whenever you feel like it.”

“All right,” Harry sighed. He deposited a kiss on Draco’s mouth, startling him with its sudden intensity, and then departed.

He smiled to himself all the way down the stairs and out into the garden. Day two of the auction was already underway, with large furnishings dominating the staging area. He honed in on Ron’s red head and plopped down in the seat next to him.

“Good morning,” Ron said, picking at a breakfast pastry and looking tired. “Did you just get here?”

“No,” Harry couldn’t hide his grin.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. “Did you get here earlier?” Hermione asked warily.

“No,” Harry’s smile widened.

“Oh gods,” Ron closed his eyes. “I knew it.”

“You stayed here last night?” Hermione hissed, trying not to let the crowd around them overhear. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” Harry said “And it was great.”

“I don’t want details,” Ron said quickly.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Harry dismissed his squeamish grimace. “All I’m saying is that it was good. Malfoy is,” he paused, looking for the right word, “good.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” Hermione said.

“If he’s fine, why isn’t he down here with you?” Ron asked.

“He’s still a bit nervous about showing his face in public,” Harry said. “I’m working on it. He’s been through a lot of bad times. It’s going to take some convincing to get him out in society again.”

“Don’t let him draw you in,” Hermione warned. “You can’t fix everyone.”

“So you’ve said,” Harry craned his neck at the auction block. “After furniture it should be jewelry, then cars, then books, right?”

“I don’t think I have a shot at anything until books,” Hermione said, willing to be distracted.

“Do you want to meet for lunch later?” Harry asked.

“You’re not staying?” Ron asked.

“Well,” Harry glanced up at the balcony. Draco wasn’t standing at the railing but he was certain he was up there. “I sort of want to hang out with Malfoy today.”

“Be careful,” Hermione said. “He lies as easily as he breathes.”

“I’ll be careful,” Harry said. He patted her knee and stood to leave.

“Going already?” a familiar voice asked. Harry turned and met Gavin’s friendly gaze.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry stepped towards the mansion.

“I was just about to have a look through the staging area,” Gavin said quickly. He gestured for Harry to accompany him. Harry reluctantly followed. He didn’t want to be impolite, but he felt Gavin was being a bit too persistent.

“There are some nice items here,” Harry said vaguely. “Are you planning on bidding on anything today?”

“Bidding, sure,” Gavin shrugged. “Winning, maybe not.”

Harry walked between the aisles of furnishings with him, politely remarking on this or that item. He glanced up at the second floor balcony every now and then, wondering when he could excuse himself without seeming rude.

“Sorry, are you nervous about something?” Gavin asked curiously, noting Harry’s furtive glances upwards.

“No,” Harry laughed sheepishly. “I was just thinking about going inside.”

“Oh, so you’ve been in?” Gavin turned to face him with interest. “What’s it like?”

“Gutted,” Harry looked around. “For the auction, obviously.”

“And the master of the house?”

“Great,” Harry didn’t mean to grin as widely as he did. He wasn’t in control of his grins.

“Oh yeah?” Gavin smiled slyly. “Now I know why you didn’t want to take a walk yesterday.”

“I should have told you,” Harry said apologetically. “I’ve sort of been interested in him for a long time, and I didn’t know if anything would happen but,” he shrugged and wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence.

“For a long time?” Gavin cocked his head. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Harry ducked his head. “Just sort of since the war, thinking about things, how they were, how they could have been, how things might have changed. The one that got away, sort of thing.”

“I see,” Gavin smiled brightly. “Well I wish you happiness.”

“Thank you,” Harry was relieved that he seemed to understand.

“I think your friends are calling for you,” Gavin pointed over Harry’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Harry stepped back. “I should see what they want.”

“See you around,” Gavin waved and went back to looking over the furniture items.

Harry crossed the lawn to Ron and Hermione’s seats. He sat next to Ron and raised his eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

“What what?” Ron asked.

“You were calling for me,” Harry said.

“No we weren’t,” Hermione shook her head.

“Gavin said--” Harry turned and pointed but the brunet man was gone.

“That guy is totally into you,” Ron said. “And I’ll bet he isn’t half as mad as Malfoy.”

“You’ve made your opinion known, Ron,” Harry sighed. “He must have thought someone else was calling me. Doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’ll see you guys around lunch time.”

He headed back across the lawn to the house, then cut through the kitchen and ascended the servant stairs. The bathroom door was closed when he arrived and he could hear the sound of water running. He tapped softly on the door. “You in there?” he called.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Draco called back over the rush of the water.

Harry went out to the balcony and had a look at the Edison ticker tape. The notation wasn’t easy to parse, but it seemed to record the item, the final bid price, and the name of the winner. He sorted through the long strand and found where Draco had marked the paper. There were pluses and minuses next to some of the figures. Harry wasn’t sure what they indicated.

“Plus means I made money, minus means I lost,” Draco emerged from the bedroom, tucking his shirt into his trousers and re-buckling his belt.

Harry dropped the ribbon and walked straight into Draco’s arms, kissing him and catching him totally off guard. He stroked his hair and held him close, inhaling the scent of his skin and committing it all to memory.

“Are you mad, Potter?” Draco’s voice was rough as Harry explored his neck with his tongue.

“Maybe a little,” Harry murmured.

“Did you find your friends?” Draco asked.

“I did,” Harry said. He reluctantly released his former schoolmate and sat in one of the deck chairs. “I told them about us.”

“You did?” Draco eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not worried that they’ll disown you?”

“Not at all,” Harry said. “They expressed some concerns, of course, but they still think of you from half a decade ago.”

“And you wonder why I stay in,” Draco said. "You see me for who I am, but they see me as a monster."

“Rubbish,” Harry scoffed. “People’s opinions don’t change about you when you’re absent. They change when they interact with you. When I came in here yesterday I didn’t know what you would be like.”

“You've always known what I'm like." Draco shook his head, "You’re the only one who has. It’s no risk to be around you. But I can’t show my face to anyone else.”

“You will eventually,” Harry said confidently. “I’ll stake my reputation on it. I told someone else about us, too, and I’ll tell anyone who will listen that you’re not mad.”

“Or dead.”

“That’s not as tough of a claim to dispute,” Harry said.

“You told someone else about us?” Draco asked. “Maybe you’re the mad one. We haven’t seen each other in two years, you’ve been here less than twenty four hours, and you’re telling people about us. It just happened, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “It’s totally mad. I’m definitely more mad than you.” He flashed a crooked smile, “I’ve sort of thought about you a lot over the last couple of years. I guess I just got carried away now that it’s finally happened.”

Draco flashed a small smile. “I’ve thought a lot about you, too.” He reached out and caressed Harry’s ear.

A big cheer went up from the crowd down below. They rushed to the railing as an elaborate armoire was moved from the auction platform to the payment area. Draco checked the ticker tape. “Big plus sign on that one,” he said smugly. “Do you want to have some fun?” he asked.

“Sure,” Harry reached for his wrist with a salacious grin.

“Not that,” Draco deftly evaded capture. “I mean a game. Come with me.”

They walked together through the bedroom and out into the hall. Draco extended his arms to encompass the whole house.

"Mansion hide and seek," he announced. "I was never allowed to have other kids over so I used to play with the house elves. Nothing is off limits except for the first floor.”

"And the cellar," Harry added. "I don't think I can face it."

Draco nodded grimly. "Second and third floors only, then. One hides, one seeks, then switch."

"Twenty years old and you want to play hide and seek?" Harry smirked. 

"I haven't played in years, I promise it's fun."

"What do I get if I win?" Harry asked. 

"Me."

"I already have you," Harry grinned lustfully.

"Not yet you don't," Draco wagged his finger and Disapparated.

"Wait!" Harry called. "How long do I wait before looking for you?"

Silence surrounded him. He figured he ought to at least wait a few minutes before setting off, so he returned to the bedroom. He counted slowly in his head as he perused the cluttered shelves, the overstuffed boxes and crates, the cluttered mantle.

Something on the mantle caught his eye. It was a long slim box that had candle holders and matches-- real muggle matches-- stacked on top. Wax from the candles had dripped and pooled, marring the box's dark wood finish. He knew it wasn't his business but he recognized it for what it was: a wand box from Ollivander's.

He slipped it out from under the candles and matches and brushed at least a year's worth of dust away. It was indeed an Ollivander's box. He creaked open the lid and found exactly what he expected. Draco's hawthorn wand lay nestled in the satin lining, discarded and unused.

The debris around the mantle indicated that it hasn't been moved in a long time. Which meant the wand hasn't been used in a long time. It wasn't a surprise, given Draco's resistance to any suggestion of using his wand, but it still saddened Harry to see confirmation that he had given it up. 

He closed the box and slid it back onto the mantle, carefully replacing the candlesticks and matches so that it appeared undisturbed. He had his work cut out for him to convince Draco to pick it up again.

In the meantime there was hide and seek to play. He went out into the hall and considered his strategy. There was no way Draco would just hide in a room, out in the open. Which meant he would find a secret room or cabinet or something sneakier. Harry retrieved his wand and cast a Revelation charm, which would cause any hidden secrets in the walls to illuminate when he drew near. He walked slowly, holding the tip of his wand near the wainscoting. He walked to the master suite down on the end and then turned to come back up the other side.

The corridor was clean. So now he had to start checking each room. He cracked each door open and peeked inside before doing a sweep. Aside from the two rooms Draco kept off of the balcony, they were all gutted and clean with nowhere to hide. He felt like he was in Auror training again, so he told himself to focus and treat the game like it was an investigation.

His senses went into high alert he listened for breathing and movement, certain Draco couldn't silence himself completely without his wand. Some things like security charms could be done with wandless gestures. But anything that would allow him completely avoid personal detection would need more traditional methods. 

He was just opening the door to the master suite when he heard footsteps behind him. Fully immersed in Auror mode he spun around and lashed out with a Petrificus Totalus, then released it the instant he realized what he had done. 

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, jamming his wand up his sleeve. "You caught me by surprise. Mister..." he let the word dangle

The balding, middle-aged man in a servant uniform regarded him dourly. "Jeeves, sir. Quite all right, sir. Can I help you with something, sir?" He spoke with a Mancunian lilt and kept his distance.

"I'm Harry Potter, a friend of Draco's," Harry said quickly. Draco had mentioned that he had staff, but he hadn't anticipated running into one while he was wandering the house alone. He belatedly remembered his Auror seal, kept on him at all times. He flipped it out to show it and said, "I'm with the Ministry of Magic."

"Do you have papers?" the man asked. "Something that shows you have a right to search the premises?"

"No, it's not like that," Harry waved his hands anxiously. "I'm not searching the premises. We're playing a game." He felt ridiculous, a professional Auror playing games with a childhood mate. "Draco is hiding and I'm," he sighed at the absurd statement, "I'm seeking."

"I'm afraid I can't have you tearing around the house without Master Draco's approval," the man said. 

"I'm not tearing around the house," Harry protested. "But if I don't find him he's going to think I didn't try. I have to at least find him so he knows to stop hiding." He rubbed his face in frustration. "You can follow me and keep an eye on me if you'd like."

"I certainly shall," the man raised an unamused eyebrow.

Harry winced and continued his search, checking for hiding places in the master suite and down the other side of the hallway. The butler kept his distance, but watched him the whole time. Harry found himself sweating profusely under the scrutiny and had to keep wiping his brow with his sleeve. 

"A problem, sir?" the man called after several swipes.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Harry ascended the tower stairs to the third floor with the suspicious butler at his heels. "Malfoy!" he called. "Game's over. Just come out." He turned and smiled apologetically at the other man. "He's not going to come out. He'll think that's a trick to get him to give up his position."

"Indeed," the man's mouth dropped in a disapproving frown. 

Harry began checking the rooms and hallway for hiding places. He found a few secret cabinets and a passage between two rooms that was cleverly concealed with paneling. But no Draco. 

"Come on, mate," he shouted when he reached the end of the hall. "I'm done playing. Come out."

The butler pointedly cleared his throat and checked his pocket watch. Harry mumbled an apology and continued his search. He poked a glowing Lumos into every dark corner and every secret opening to no avail.

"Sir," the butler said politely. 

"Just five more minutes," Harry raised his hand to quiet him so he could think. He returned to the far tower and swept his wand. There, just as he thought. The tower went up one more floor, but the stairs were behind a stone facade. The secret revealed itself as a glowing silhouette against the wall. 

"Sir," the butler said again. 

"He's in here, I know it," Harry insisted. He placed his hand on the facade and found it quite moveable without much effort. He ascended the short flight with the older man at his heels and emerged in a small square room with the peaked tower roof directly over his head.

The room was filled with potion supplies. Dried botanicals dangled from the ceiling, cauldrons lined the far wall, each in varying states of brew. There were jars and bottles of ingredients everywhere, and a row of neatly labeled hip flasks sat on a table near the door. 

The room smelled terrible. But more importantly, Harry knew that terrible smell. 

"Polyjuice?" he asked to no one in particular. It was a huge Polyjuice operation. Each of the five cauldrons sat before a pouch that contained a lock of hair.

He turned and checked one of the flasks. The label read Jeeves. He looked up in shock. The man grinned as a streak of white blond hair sprouted from the top of his head. 

"Are you mad?" Harry yelled. "Malfoy, are you completely mad?"

The man's features melted and rearranged and he dropped two inches in height. In mere moments Jeeves was no more and Draco stood in his place in what was now an ill-fitting servant uniform. 

"Are you completely mad?" Harry shouted again, unable to form a more coherent thought. 

Draco laughed uproariously. Harry hadn't seen him laugh so hard in years. He bridled, reflexively feeling like the target of his joke. 

"Don't be cross," Draco grabbed his hand, dropping the servant’s accent. "You knew I was using Polyjuice to get out of the house."

"You didn't tell me you were going to follow me around the house wearing the face of some buggery old man!" Harry's adrenaline was running full throttle and he was having a hard time not yelling. 

"It was hilarious," Draco burst out laughing again. "You were so nervous. I thought you'd die from sweating."

"Very funny," Harry grumbled. "You won't think it's so funny when I look at you and see that tosser's face."

"You're saying you aren't attracted to me anymore?" Draco raised a coy eyebrow. He tugged Harry closer and slipped a hand around his neck. Goosebumps raced up and down Harry's arms. "This doesn't appeal at all now?" he murmured, just barely tickling Harry's lips with his own. 

Harry groaned and pushed in for a kiss. He was right, the prank couldn't turn him off completely. Draco let Harry paw him for a moment, then gently pushed him away. 

"So you're not angry," he asked. He was still smiling but his eyes were nervous.

Harry realized what a precarious place Draco must be in. He had no friends, no one from the outside to care for or to care for him. He was probably scared on some level that Harry would leave as easily as he had arrived. He pulled Draco in close and hugged him. It was a different sort of embrace, not lustful this time. Draco hesitated before raising his arms and wrapping them around Harry's waist. 

"I'm not angry that you played a Polyjuice prank on me," he said into Draco's ear. "But even if I was, I'd get over it."

"It's been a long time," Draco said vaguely, but Harry knew what he meant. 

"I know," Harry said, releasing him and nudging him back down the stairs. "Were you at least impressed with my investigation?"

"Most professional, Saint Potter," Draco led him back to the bedroom.

"You can call me Harry."

"You're still calling me Malfoy."

"Fair point," Harry tossed himself down onto the bed as Draco changed into his normal clothes. "Come here, Draco."

The blond man looked up in surprise. He paused with his shirt buttoned halfway down and his hair tousled from undressing. Harry was utterly charmed. He sat up and yanked Draco over to the bed by the hand.

"What do you think you're doing, Harry?" Draco asked softly, nearly whispering Harry's name. 

They kissed long and gently, hands moving slowly. The sound of the auction, totally forgotten during the morning's game, filtered through the gap in the French doors, making it sound like they had an approving audience. When Harry pushed Draco's knees to his chest and entered, a well-timed cheer went up from the attending crowd, eliciting a rather silly grin from both of them.

Harry pushed sensually, enraptured by the sensation of Draco's legs curled around his waist. He'd had lovers before, he'd had more than his fair share of Oliver Wood, but nothing like this. It was like going home, like being with the person he'd always known he was meant to be with. Draco was right, he was completely mad.

They came together, gasping in unison in a quiet, slow burn that Harry wished would never end. As the climax waned and they finally slipped free, Harry knew he had to figure out a way to get this man out of the house and into his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry and Draco laid together in the bed, fingers laced together, Harry's head on Draco's chest. He pointed with his big toe at the fireplace mantle. 

"Is that your wand box?" he asked, as though he hadn't already snooped.

"Yes," Draco yawned.

"Is your wand in there?"

"I suppose."

"When is the last time you took it out?" Harry traced light circles over Draco's chest to soothe any potential anxiety. 

"Ages," Draco captured Harry's hand and pressed a kiss onto his palm.

"You should get it out."

"No."

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and peered at his former classmate. "You've not given up Polyjuice or protective wards or wandless spells. Why the wand?"

"You can do a lot more harm a lot more easily with a wand," Draco said. Outside a car horn blared, indicating that the automobile portion of the auction was starting. 

"Only if you want to."

"Who needs the temptation?" Draco pulled Harry's head back down to his shoulder. 

"What are you scared of?"

Draco’s hands halted their lovely stroking. "I don't want to become my father,” he said flatly.

"You think he was tempted by magic?" Harry wanted to be so careful. He wasn't sure Draco realized how open he was being and didn't want to startle him into closing off again. 

"I think he was tempted by power," Draco said. "I think some people are more corruptible than others. A wand is too powerful a tool for someone like that."

Harry pushed up to his elbow again. He chewed his lip, hoping his next words wouldn't chase Draco back into hiding.

"You are not your father."

Draco's face crumpled. With tremendous effort he righted himself and steadied his expression. He spoke low and evenly, "I can't be sure of that. I accepted the mark of the Death Eater. I have to believe I'm capable of following in his footsteps. I shouldn't be trusted with a wand."

"You disarmed me yesterday," Harry said. "If you were capable of being corrupted by temptation, wouldn't that have been an ideal time?"

"Maybe," Draco said. "But I also like you," he blushed furiously, the words too easily escaping his lips.

"Would you have hexed Ron Weasley?" Harry asked, offering up a name he definitely didn't like. 

"Don't you dare talk about the Weasel when we're naked," Draco said pompously. 

Harry felt warm through his middle again. He loved those small glimpses of Draco's fire. He held his eyes and waited for a real answer.

"No, I wouldn't have," Draco finally sighed. 

"You're not like your father," Harry said firmly. "When would he have given up the opportunity to gain the upper hand? You've learned from your experiences. You're not like him and you never will be."

"Don't talk about my father when we're naked, either," Draco's attempt at humor was weak this time.

"Just get it out and carry it in your pocket," Harry said. "You don't have to use it, but try carrying it." An idea occurred to him. "You know that sullied unicorn blood we found? You can release it. Use your wand for good. And if you're worried about whether you're corrupted, the rite can purify you, too. Sullying unicorn blood is a grave sin, but sanctifying it and releasing it is one of the most transcending things you can do."

"Harry," Draco closed his eyes as though pained. "Give it a rest."

"All right. But at least think about it."

"What do you want to do now?" Draco changed the subject. "And don't say fucking because I need a break, lest you split me in two."

"Sorry," Harry's face flushed crimson. 

"How about you hide and I seek?"

"I don’t know any good hiding spots,” Harry said.

“Nonsense, you used that charm to find all of the mansion’s secrets,” Draco reminded him.

“All right, fine,” Harry rolled out of bed and searched for his discarded pants. “I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to please you.”

“Because I’m the one who got away, remember?” Draco grinned, unabashedly nude as Harry dressed. “I’ll give you to the count of sixty to hide. Find a good spot.”

“No pranks this time,” Harry wagged his finger.

“No promises.”

Harry exited to the corridor and wondered where to go. Certainly not here on the second floor. He ascended the servant stairs to the third floor and considered his options. He smiled to himself, thinking of Draco lounging naked in the bed as he hid. He thought of his confident smile, the possessive way he smiled at Harry when he said--

What had he said?

“I’m the one who got away, remember?”

Harry drew up short. Another memory shot through him.

“I don’t do hookups anymore.” “I know.”

Shit.

Harry spun around and ran to the tower. He shoved his way through the stone facade and took the stairs two at a time to the Polyjuice room at the top. He looked around, wild-eyed, unsure what he was looking for. The flasks. He lunged for the row of labeled flasks and read the name on each.

“Damn it,” he swore. “Malfoy!” he shouted, thundering down the stairs to the second floor. He emerged from the tower stairs as Draco was entering the master suite at the other end of the hall. “Malfoy!” he snapped again.

“Are we back to surnames?” Draco asked, his eyes wide and his hands fidgeting at his shirt hem.

“What is this?” Harry shoved the flask into his hands. Draco looked down and swallowed hard. “Why on earth would you do this? You just lied to me and pretended you were someone else.”

“I wanted to be out there with you,” Draco stammered. “I didn’t think--”

“You didn’t think I’d care that Gavin was actually you lying to me?” Harry turned away and ran his hand through his hair in disbelief. He tried to remember his Auror training but struggled to divorce his emotion from his rational mind. “Okay,” he seethed. “I get the first time, we hadn’t really talked yet. But then,” his head was reeling. “That was you when I was talking to Oliver.”

“I was defending you to Oliver,” Draco interjected.

“That was you who asked me to take a walk,” Harry shook his head. “And then you asked me what I thought of you. Were you being sneaky? Trying to find out if I was being sincere? Trying to find out what I would say behind your back?”

“No,” Draco’s face was petrified. “None of that, I swear. I just wanted to--” his breath was coming too fast and Harry was afraid he would hyperventilate. “I’m a prisoner in here, Harry. And I wanted to be out there with you, and every time I thought I would tell you but then it seemed like it was too late,” he was gasping for air, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed. His knees buckled and Harry caught him by his elbows before he hit the floor.

“Come on, you need to calm down,” Harry braced him and led him to his bed. He went to the bathroom and wrung a washcloth in cold water and then laid it across Draco’s forehead. He paced before the fireplace, mind still reeling. “That was you two months ago at the club,” he said softly. “You let me believe last night was the first time. But you’d been with me before. And I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco pressed the washcloth to his eyes and struggled to breathe.

“And then this morning?” Harry squinted at him. “After last night, you still came to me as Gavin and didn’t tell me,” he buried his face in his hands. “You asked me how you were. I told you how I felt. I deserved to know that was you, Draco. I deserved to say those things to you when I wanted to say them to you. To your face, to your real face.”

“Harry,” Draco croaked, pulling the cloth from his eyes and sitting up. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Harry said. “I don’t. If you wanted to be out there with me, you should have just come out with me.”

“I can’t,” Draco’s face crumpled.

"Yes you can!" Harry shouted. 

"No! I really can't!"

“Why not?” Harry hollered.

“Because I’m a monster!” Draco shouted back. He leapt to his feet and hurled the washcloth into the fireplace. “I’m a fucking monster! And everyone out there can see me, the fucking monster that I am. I can’t show this face out there,” he swept his arm at the French doors, encompassing the whole world outside. “This fucking, monstrous face. I can’t go out there and be seen for what I am.” Great tears spilled down his face but he refused to release his anguish in the sob that was choking off his breath. "They'll hunt me. They'll kill me. When they see me as I really am, not this face but the other one, they'll destroy me."

Harry was speechless. A great pain spread throughout his body. “What are you talking about?” he said. “You’re not a monster. Why would I be here if you were a monster?”

Draco barked in a harsh laugh. “You’ve always seen me for what I am. You saw me from the first day. Everyone else saw an illusion, what they wanted to see. But you’ve seen me from the start.” He pulled himself up and with great effort recomposed his expression. “It's not figurative anymore, Harry. But for whatever reason you’ve decided to tolerate this thing in me. I don’t deserve it, but there it is.” He took a deep breath and wiped his face. “They,” he said firmly, pointing to the French doors, “won’t tolerate it. The facade is gone, The war destroyed it like everything else. I can't hide it anymore. Everyone can see me now.” His chin bunched up as he frowned deeply and struggled to keep himself contained. “It only happens out there, it only happens around people. I can’t be seen for what I really am.”

“Draco,” Harry dropped his hand to his side. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Draco whispered.

Harry was confused. He felt awful for Draco and knew he was hurting, but he felt betrayed. He remembered Hermione’s comment, that Draco Malfoy lies as easily as he breathes. He didn’t know what to think.

“I think I need to go out for a bit,” he said finally.

Draco nodded as though it made perfect sense. He crossed the room to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

“Draco,” Harry leaned against the doorjamb and stared at the handle. “Are you going to be okay if I go outside?”

“I’m fine,” Draco called. “I just need to clean up.”

“I’ll be back later, okay?” Harry touched the cold wood inset of the door. “Can I come back later?”

“Of course,” Draco said softly.

“Okay then,” Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry went outside and squinted into the sunlight as he made the sudden transition from the dim interior of the mansion to the beautiful midday sunlight. A curvaceous black 1940 Lagonda had been towed up to the platform, and several auction attendees were circling it like sharks, checking the detailing and remarking on its condition.

He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting with Ginny and Dean and squeezed in on the end. He tried to smile and pretend everything was fine but his friends saw straight through him.

“Get up,” Ron shoved him back out of the seat. “Move along, we’re getting food and you’re telling us what happened.”

“Leave off,” Harry waved him away but came along obediently.

They found a cart that was selling meat pies and purchased a few. Hermione muttered about the lack of meat-free options but made do with what was available. Since they weren’t in the market for automobiles they found a place to sit beneath a wild cherry tree at the edge of the garden.

Harry told them everything. He told them about Draco’s refusal to use his wand, about his fear of going outside, the polyjuice, the game of hide and go seek, and Gavin. He also told them about how he was falling for Draco, how he’d fallen a long time ago, and how confused he was about feeling lied to. They listened sympathetically, not interrupting or making sharp remarks about their former schoolmate.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked when he finally paused for air.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It’s not really the right question, is it?” He had eaten only half of his meat pie and found he didn’t have the appetite for the rest. Ron helpfully took it off of his hands. “I want to be with him, but I feel betrayed. I need to figure out how to not feel that way.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Harry,” Hermione said. “When someone betrays you, it doesn’t become your job to not be upset about it. It’s their job to make amends.”

“I don’t want to feel betrayed.”

“You don’t want to be betrayed,” Hermione said gently. “There’s a difference.”

“She’s right,” Ron said simply. “It’s a trust thing. You feel betrayed even though you understand why he did it, because you’re afraid he might do it again. The betrayal is about having your trust violated, not the polyjuice.”

“He gets it,” Hermione smiled proudly. “Draco has to prove to you that you can trust him from now on. That’s the only way you’re going to be okay with it.”

Harry’s hair fluttered in the breeze. He looked up as the auction workers tested the classic car horn to the delight of the crowd. “Why aren’t you trying to talk me out of being with him?”

“Is there any way on earth we could, if it’s what you want?” Hermione asked.

“Probably not.”

“Then it’s not our place.”

A shadow crossed the dappled sunlight that filtered across their outstretched legs. They looked up as a trio, but the brunet visitor’s golden hazel eyes were only for Harry.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly.

“Is that really you, Malfoy?” Ron squinted up at him.

“Hello, Weasel,” the man’s nose wrinkled distastefully.

“That’s him,” Ron grumbled.

Harry stood up and brushed the back of his trousers off. He felt immensely embarrassed now, looking into those eyes and knowing Draco was behind them. They walked towards the gazebo and circled around the back of the seating area to a cluster of fruit trees at the fringe of the activity. Draco took Harry’s elbow and steered him to a trio of ornamental trees that was well enough away from the main crowd.

“Why are you out here like that again?” Harry asked.

“Because I want to apologize,” Draco said. Harry didn’t understand how he had missed his voice before. It was distinct, and he felt like he should have known instantly that Gavin was an impostor.

“You apologized inside,” Harry said.

“I’m out here,” Draco waved his hand towards the busy auction area. “I’m out of the safety of my home, I'm trying to prove to you that I’m really trying.”

“You were out here before.”

“I was really trying before, too,” Draco said urgently. “You have no idea how it feels for me to be outside and visible. The polyjuice doesn’t last long. I have to keep a flask on me to make sure I stay hidden until I can get back inside. The polyjuice doesn’t make me comfortable out here, I’m anxious and worried that I’ll be caught out here as myself. It’s hard going out like this. But it’s the only way I can go out.”

“It’s not okay to live this way, Draco,” Harry took his hands and pushed down the awkward feeling that he was touching another man. “You have to be able to get past this.”

“It's not that simple.” Draco shook his head. His soft chestnut hair fluttered in the wind . A faint stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin, and his long, straight nose was regal and refined. Harry wondered how he had selected his identities to use as disguises.

“You have to,” Harry squeezed his hands. “I’m not saying you should get past this. I’m saying you must.”

“If I could, you don’t think I would have by now?” Draco nervously checked his pocket watch. “There’s no cure for me.”

“Let it wear off,” Harry covered the watch with his hand. “Just stand here with me. I’ll protect you. You’ll see no one will treat you like a monster.”

“I can't,” Draco swallowed hard.

“It will be okay,” Harry put his arm around his shoulder and held him close. “I’ll stay here with you the whole time.”

Harry could feel Draco's whole body quake with fear and ached to be able to fix the pain. But as soon as Draco saw his fears of being a monster were all in his head, he would realize that everything was okay. 

"Harry," Draco whimpered, scratching his left forearm through his sleeve. "I have to go inside."

"Stay here with me," Harry squeezed him tighter. "I'm not leaving you. It will be okay."

"I can't, I can't," he was terrified. "Let me go."

"Stay here, it's okay," Harry glanced up and saw the tips of his hair lightening. "It's starting. Just breathe slowly. You can lean on me if you need to."

"Harry, please," Draco clung to him as his face rippled and morphed. "Don't make me do this. Get me inside, please. Cover me up." He scratched furiously at his arm and cradled it like he was in pain.

"You're okay," Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest. "See, there's your face. As handsome as ever."

"Harry, no," Draco moaned, burying his head in Harry's shoulder. "Don't let anyone see me!"

"What’s wrong with your arm?" Harry asked as Draco clawed at himself. 

"It burns," Draco cried. He slipped free from Harry's arms and crouched as the last of the Polyjuice faded away. "Help me, Harry! Don't let anyone see me!" He stared at his hands in wide-eyed horror. "Do you see? Do you see what I am? I tried to tell you!"

"Draco," Harry crouched before him and tried to steady his trembling. "You look the same."

"No!" Draco thrust his hands under Harry's nose. "Do these look the same to you?" His eyes bugged as he reeled back from his curled fingers. "Help me!" He contracted again, raking at his left arm like he could tear it off. 

Harry didn't understand. Draco looked exactly the same as ever. But he was clearly seeing something else, and what he saw terrified him. 

"Let me look at your arm," Harry knelt and wrestled Draco's arm free. He pushed his left sleeve up and jerked back in fear. The dark mark, the former dark mark that had been nearly invisible indoors, was now blood red and pulsating. "Malfoy, you've been cursed!"

"Help me, Harry," Draco said, hunkering down and curling into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head. 

"What's wrong with Malfoy?" Hermione called as she and Ron ran to them.

"He's been cursed," Harry jumped to his feet. "Stay with him, don't touch him, just make sure no one sees him out here."

"Where are you going?" Hermione grabbed his arm to hold him back. 

"I have to get something at my flat."

"You can't Apparate here," she reminded him. “There are wards around the property.”

"I have to try."

"Harry, please," Draco cried piteously from the ground. He saw Hermione and Ron and curled up again. "Don't leave me!"

"I'm only leaving for a moment," Harry said. "I'm coming right back to help you."

"Hurry," Draco moaned. "They'll hunt me, they'll kill me."

"Don't let anyone see him," Harry said firmly, then focused on his flat and Disapparated without resistance. 

The instant he arrived at his flat he shouted, "Accio cloak!" Three cloaks fluttered at him from different directions, but he quickly sorted out the slippery silver one and Disapparated again. He felt the cool, wet sensation of being admitted through the Apparation barrier that surrounded the Malfoy property and landed mere inches from where he'd stood before.

Hermione was crouched next to Draco with her arm around him, talking to him in a mothering, comforting tone. He was curled up on elbows and knees, hands over his head and rocking back and forth. Ron stood at the edge of the tree line, watching for visitors. 

"This is an invisibility cloak," Harry said as he tossed the gossamer fabric over the huddled man. "No one can see you now."

"Are you sure?" His voice was muffled.

"Yes, stand up," Harry held his hand out to Hermione. Instinctively she gave him her compact mirror from her bag. 

"You really can't see me?" Draco's voice was at ear-level now but was still muffled. 

"We can't see you," Harry said. "Lower your hands so you can look in this mirror." A moment of silence, and then a sigh of relief. "I'm going to help you get back to the house."

"Don't go," Draco's invisible hand seized Harry's wrist through the silken fabric.

"Let me under the cloak and I'll walk with you, okay?"

The space in front of him shimmered, and then just the slightest glimmer of an opening revealed Draco's face. "Hurry," he said. 

"Harry," Hermione touched his shoulder. "He needs help."

"I know," Harry nodded. "But he needs to get back inside first."

He handed her mirror back, then slipped under the cloak and wrapped Draco's arms around his waist. Ensuring the other man could pace with him, he slowly walked across the property to the mansion. 

"Don't stop," Draco said as they entered the cool, dim interior of the house. Harry led him up the stairs and didn't release the cloak until they were secured in his bedroom. 

He laid Draco down on the bed and pushed his sleeve up. The dark mark was nearly invisible again, just a faint shadow on his pale forearm. Draco's bloodshot eyes followed his every move. 

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse and exhausted. 

"How do you think you look now?"

"Normal."

"You didn't look any different outside."

"Don't lie to me," Draco closed his eyes. 

Harry climbed onto the bed and rolled him into his arms. "I'm not lying to you," he murmured into his hair. "You've been cursed. It's in your dark mark."

"My mark is gone," Draco inspected his arm. 

"You need to trust me," Harry said. "You didn't change outside and your mark was red and pulsating when you thought it was happening."

"I didn't change?" Draco held his hands out in front of him. "I saw myself change."

"It didn't happen," Harry said. "Hermione and Ron were there, and none of us saw you change. The curse is inside of you, affecting your mind."

"I saw," Draco swallowed hard and clenched his fists, "claws. And scales."

"Never happened," Harry assured him. He went to the mantle and retrieved the abandoned wand box. He opened the lid and set it in Draco's lap. Draco sat up and pushed it away. "Take it," Harry said. 

Draco glared at him but relented. He scooped up his old hawthorn wand like it was refuse and let it dangle from his fingertips. 

"First things first," Harry knelt by the bed and took Draco's left arm in his hand. "You need to make the curse reveal itself."

"You do it," Draco shoved his wand at Harry. 

"No," Harry pushed it back into his hand. "You do it." He smiled encouragingly. "Aparecium."

"I know the spell, Potter," Draco yanked his arm out of his grasp. "I don't have dementia."

He extended his arm and cast the revealing charm. His dark mark rose to the surface in smoky strokes. Then a different sigil revealed itself, curled around the skull and snake in a deep, glowing red. 

"What is that?" Draco gasped.

"The Dark Lord's last gift to you," Harry said grimly.

"Is that what's transforming me?"

"You're not transforming, Malfoy," Harry reminded him. "It makes you think you are, makes you see yourself transformed."

"If I'm not a monster, why did people spit on me and treat me like one after the war?" Draco's expression said he thought the answer to his question should be obvious. 

"When was that, two years ago?" Harry asked. "Probably during the trials, right? I'd have been surprised if no one spat on you."

"I guess so," Draco released the Aparecium charm and the two marks faded away. He rolled his wand back and forth between his fingertips. 

"Don't put it down," Harry said. 

"But what if--"

"No what if," Harry cut him off. He grasped Draco's wrist and turned it until the tip of the hawthorn wand was touching his Adam's apple. "What do you want to do?" he asked softly. "Do you want to hurt me?"

Draco snatched his hand away in horror. He shook his head and clutched the wand to his chest. 

"It's okay to carry a wand," Harry reached out and smoothed his hair. "You have to. I'm not suggesting it, I’m telling you that you have to. You're too talented to give magic up."

Draco looked away. He slipped the wand up his sleeve and thought for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice was clear and strong, "I'm broken, Potter. I’ve been broken for a long time. I thought I was beyond repair but maybe there’s hope yet.” He took a breath and lifted his chin. “I know you want to help, but you can't fix me, I have to be the one to do it." He flashed a sarcastic smirk, "Besides, you're rubbish at it. Your idea of fixing me is forcing me to go outside and making me point a wand at your neck. I can't believe they let a nutter like you join up with the Aurors."

Harry's heart swelled. That voice, so familiar, so present, no longer weak and shattered, it was what he wanted to hear. That was the Draco he had been hoping to find again.

"You should release the unicorn blood," Harry said. "It's a powerful enough rite to lift the curse."

"I suppose you're right, I should give it a shot," Draco said. "Do you know what needs to be done?"

"Not specifically," Harry said. "But I know someone who does."

"Oh Merlin, not Granger," Draco dropped his face into his palm. 

"If we're going to be together you're going to have to get used to her."

"You still want to be together?" he looked up, his gray eyes filled with hope. 

"Only since, like, sixth year," Harry said. "I never stopped holding out hope that you would turn yourself around."

Draco leaned over and kissed Harry. He butted their heads together and stroked his thumb down Harry's cheek. "I've wanted you for years, too," he said. "That's why you were able to Apparate outside. And why you've been able to enter the house."

"You signatured me?" Harry asked in wonder.

Draco smiled. “Yeah,” he said. "Two years ago."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry found Hermione and Ron sitting near the front of the crowd, bidding furiously over the Malfoys' book collection. Hermione had given up on sitting and stood before her chair with her number card held high. Harry couldn't see what the title was on the book that was currently eliciting high bids, but it was old, and it was thick. 

Ron was patting her leg and begging her to sit, wincing at the surrounding bidders as the battle raged above him. Harry could tell she had gone out of her price range and Ron was trying to stop her from emptying their coffers. Finally she noticed his pestering and sat down with a harrumph. She had one small book under her chair which meant she wasn't going home empty handed, but it was obvious that the large book was one she really wanted.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry squeezed her hand as he sat down. 

"Do you know what that book was?" Hermione was grief stricken over the loss. "Ancient centaurian ceremonies, Harry. Hogwarts is the perfect home for that book. Not Amos Chattery's private library!"

"Can I talk to you?" Harry asked. 

"Yes, please," Ron hefted his girlfriend by the elbow and moved her towards the end of the row.

"Don't shove me, Ronald," she protested, stumbling across the feet of another attendee. 

"Unicorn blood," Harry said as soon as they were alone. The book portion of the auction had drawn a huge crowd so the food stalls were nearly abandoned, leaving plenty of room to speak privately. 

"Wait, how's ferret-face?" Ron asked. 

"Recovering, but cursed," Harry said bluntly. "It's the Dark Mark. There's more to it than it seems. It's nested in a curse that changes how he perceives himself. It makes him believe he's transforming into a monster every time he goes out in public. It's why he hasn't been out since the war." He shook his head at his own obtuseness. “I thought he meant it figuratively when he said he was a monster. But he actually thinks it’s real.”

Ron and Hermione pondered his words. Finally Ron looked up, "Do you think the other Death Eaters were cursed, too?"

"How many of them are still alive?" Hermione asked. 

"Not many," Harry grimaced. "Most either committed suicide or went mad after the war."

"Sounds like a good bet, then," Ron said.

"Transforming into a monster," Hermione said. "That sounds very well tailored to Malfoy's personality."

"True," Harry thought of Draco's fear of turning into his father. He didn't feel comfortable sharing that detail. Too personal.

"Why can you look at him without setting him off?" Ron asked. 

"He said," Harry wondered if this was too personal, too, "he said he's always been a monster, but I'm the only one who has always seen it in him. It doesn’t have to reveal itself to me."

"I wonder if it's different for everyone. Maybe the curse takes advantage of each victim's fears," Ron said. 

"Whatever it does, it needs to be broken," Harry said, knowing well how their Gryffindor tendencies would try to lead them to solve the greater mystery.

"What were you saying about unicorn blood?" Hermione asked.

"Lucius had a vial of sullied unicorn blood," Harry said as quietly as he could. 

"Sullied?" Ron reeled back as though stung.

"Releasing it should be powerful enough to lift the curse from his arm, right?" Harry looked to Hermione for validation.

She turned to Ron, "He's your magical creature expert," she touched his arm gently. "What do you think?"

Ron blinked hard to regain control of his revulsion. "Yes, releasing it properly should cleanse the person who does it."

"So how do we do it properly?" Harry asked. 

"I don't know," his friends said together. 

Harry's heart sank. How did they all know it could be done but not know how to do it? He looked over the broad auction area, past the staging area to the second floor balcony of the mansion. He was certain he could make out the blond hair of Draco Malfoy waiting at the railing. He couldn't be stuck in there forever, damn it.

"Let's check Malfoy's books," Hermione said suddenly. "If Lucius had sullied blood, maybe he had information on what to do with it."

"We'll need to hurry," Ron tugged them both towards the seating area. "They're going through the collection fast."

They walked as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion. Hermione started on one side of the staging area and Ron started on the other. Harry dug into the middle of the pile, looking for anything that might help. Hermione cleared the area that was immediately being taken to the auction block. They didn’t know what had been auctioned off while they were talking, but they couldn’t dwell on what was already sold.

“Hello, Harry,” a familiar voice raked like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oliver,” Harry nodded and turned back to the stack of books.

“You look stressed,” the handsome Quidditch player frowned sympathetically.

“Go away, Oliver,” Harry gritted his teeth. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I want you to meet Andri," Oliver insisted. "Andri, this is Harry Potter."

"Such a pleasure to meet the Boy Who Lived."

Harry finally turned with a tense smile. "Pleased to meet you."

Andri was tall, lean, elegant, and instantly loathsome. Harry told himself it wasn't jealousy, and it wasn't ex-boyfriend bitterness. But he didn't like Andri the moment he met him. And frankly he didn't like the way Oliver had been speaking to him lately. He had to believe his poor attitude was partially a reflection of who he was spending time with.

“My daughter talks about you all the time,” Andri said. He smoothed his honey colored hair back over his ears.

“Does she?” Harry thought about what Ron had said about her. He hadn’t said anything about her being interested in Harry.

“You are a hero, after all,” the man’s smile was reptilian. He was handsome, that was certain, but he made Harry’s skin crawl.

“That’s in the past,” Harry tried to politely return to the task at hand. “Oliver is the current hero. You haven’t lost a game all season, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Oliver beamed proudly. Andri slipped a possessive hand around Oliver’s arm. It was completely absurd, Harry hadn’t sought out Oliver even once, yet this man was treating him like competition.

Harry couldn’t help it. He raised one eyebrow suggestively and asked, “Still celebrating your wins the same way?”

Oliver blushed, reminded of all of the times he and Harry had fucked beneath the invisibility cloak in the losing team’s shower room. Unless Andri had his own cloak, Harry could be certain it wasn’t a mutual memory. As he’d hoped, the Danish man scowled and tightened his grip on Oliver’s arm.

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione called. “Over here!”

“Excuse me,” Harry dashed to Hermione’s side. She was clutching a book close to her chest and furtively checking to make sure no one was nearby.

“Look,” she hissed. She uncovered the book title and traced her fingers along the words. “ _Unicorn, Bicorn and Narwhal Practicum_ ,” she read aloud.

“That has to have the information we need,” Harry said. “If I tell Draco we found this, he’ll pull it out of the auction and let us have it.”

“Pardon me,” an auction worker approached them with an air of disdain. He plucked the book out of Hermione’s hands and deposited it on the end of the table where the next set of tomes were being readied for bids.

“Go get him to pull the book out,” Ron shoved him towards the door.

“They’re about to put it on the block, Ron,” Hermione’s hand fluttered at her lips. “I guess we’ll have to bid on it until he gets back.”

“Go, mate,” Ron waved Harry away and followed Hermione to the seating area.

“Good luck,” Andri called from the end of the staging area. He wore a distasteful smile that Harry would have liked to hex from his face. But no time for that now.

Harry ran inside and up the stairs, threw himself through the bedroom door, and burst out onto the balcony. Draco was standing at the rail, a flask in his hand and a perturbed quirk to his brow.

“Put that down,” Harry yanked the flask away and set it on the drink service caddy.

“I saw that tosser hassling you,” Draco said. “That tall fellow has been parading him around on his arm all day. He’s been reduced to a trophy husband.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said. “Listen, we found a book in your collection that might have information about the unicorn blood purification rite. But it’s about to go up for bids and we need you to pull it out of the sale before--”

“Too late,” Draco pointed. Ron was waving his hands furiously at the house as Hermione raised her number card.

“They don’t have enough money to win it,” Harry dashed to the door. “I might have enough to help.”

“Wait,” Draco followed him into the bedroom and flipped open a chest beside the bed. He scooped a handful of galleons into a sack and handed it over. “Hopefully this covers it. I didn’t think I would be buying my own property today.”

“Brilliant,” Harry deposited a kiss on his lips and dashed out with the sack of money.

He tore down the stairs and ran across the lawn to Ron and Hermione’s side. Ron grabbed his arm and pointed furiously as none other than Oliver’s new beau stood and raised his number card.

“Two hundred,” he called, raising a challenging eyebrow at Harry. The urge to hex his face off returned.

“We don’t have much,” Ron hissed as Hermione raised the bid fifty Galleons.

“Just go for it,” Harry nudged Hermione’s arm and eyed the bag of money he’d dropped at their feet. He didn’t want Andri to know that they were flush with cash.

“Three hundred,” Andri called.

“He doesn’t even want it, he just doesn’t want us to have it,” Harry said.

“He doesn’t want you to have it,” Ron corrected.

“Three fifty!” Hermione waved her card.

“Five hundred,” Andri called, eliciting a gasp from the crowd.

Harry nodded at Hermione. “One thousand!” she shouted. The crowd babbled around them, wondering what was so special about the book.

“Two thousand,” Andri snapped.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed. “How much is in that sack?”

“I don’t know,” Harry desperately tried to remember what denomination the coins had been. “Just keep going.”

“Three thousand,” Hermione shouted.

“Five thousand,” Andri called.

“Ten thousand,” a calm voice drawled from the end of the row.

The audience’s heads all turned at once. Draco disguised as Gavin carefully stepped past the seated attendees and stopped at Harry’s side. He turned and regarded Oliver and Andri with an appraising stare, then returned his attention to the podium as though they were beneath consideration.

Harry exchanged a look with Oliver, pleading with him to stop the bidding war. Oliver laid his hand on Andri’s arm, but to no avail.

“Eleven thousand,” Andri shouted.

“Twelve,” Draco said.

“Thirteen thousand,” Andri shouted again.

“Twenty,” Draco stared down the other two men again. Gavin’s face wasn’t as naturally intimidating as Draco’s own, but it was wielded by an expert in condescension and arrogance. “How badly do you want it, sir?” he asked over the heads of the attendees.

“”Thirty,” Andri snapped.

“Fifty,” Draco did an admirable job making Gavin’s face radiate contempt.

Oliver grabbed Andri’s arm and spoke into his ear. The Danish man yanked his arm away and they glared at each other for a moment. Draco took a quick sip off of his flask.

“Fine,” Andri threw his number card down and stalked away, Oliver at his heels, apologizing loudly enough for the crowd to hear. Harry didn’t envy the story he would face in the gossip column tomorrow.

“Going once, going twice, sold! Fifty thousand to the gentleman in the fourth row,” the auctioneer announced.

Hermione squealed and threw herself at Harry and Draco. “Dra- I mean Gavin!” she squeezed them furiously, then dragged them to the end of the row so they could settle on the bid. The sack Draco had so casually filled for Harry was packed with thousand-Galleon coins, much to his utter shock.

“What are you doing walking around with that kind of money?” Ron demanded, gawking as Draco counted out coins.

“It’s all going back in my vault anyway,” Draco shrugged. “Shall we have a look at the book I just bought from myself?”

“You should get back inside,” Harry said. “No more polyjuice for you today.”

“Are you coming back out?” Hermione called as Harry pushed Draco back towards the house.

“I’ll meet up with you before they close down for the day,” he called over his shoulder.

He steered Draco with an uncompromising hand on his shoulder, blocking him from taking any more sips from the flask.

“It’s happening again, Potter,” Draco’s voice shook as they neared the door. A few white hairs sprouted along Gavin’s hairline.

“We’re almost there,” Harry said. “Just remind yourself that it’s all in your head. You’re not really turning into a monster.”

“Harry, my hands,” panic crept into his voice as he curled his arms to hide them with his body. “Merlin, help me, I’m changing!”

“You’re not changing, Draco,” Harry said as they crossed the threshold and darted to the servant stairs. They hurried up to the second floor to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

"Do you still think you're turning?" Harry asked as he closed the door behind him. 

“No,” Draco said, the last of the Polyjuice transformation melting away. “Coming inside fixes it.”

“You’re going to have to be outside for the rite,” Harry said. “That much I know. It has to be done in moonlight.”

“Let’s hope there are clear skies tonight,” Draco deposited the book on the bed and poured the rest of his sack of coins back into the chest on the floor. He turned around and caught Harry staring at him. “What?”

“You’re amazing,” Harry said. His heart swelled and he had to grasp one of the bed posts to keep from being overwhelmed by the sensation.

“I’m a pathetic mess,” Draco corrected him, but his voice was still strong and confident, an amazing change from earlier.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Harry said. “I don’t know anyone who could have gone through what you went through, come out with a curse as agonizing as yours, and still found the strength to continue living. You know the other Death Eaters are mostly dead or mad, right?”

“I know,” Draco nodded grimly.

“But not you,” Harry said. “You’re a survivor, Draco. And you’re amazing. Anyone else would have been driven mad by your curse,” he said. “I know it scares you to be outside. But you came out anyway, and you didn’t show a glimpse of it. You were absolutely terrifying and amazing and wonderful.” He had to laugh at the memory of the look on Andri’s face. 

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco sauntered over and slithered his arms around Harry’s waist. “You’re going to give me an inflated ego.” He kissed Harry hard, confidently and passionately. Harry melted under his touch.

They collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs and tongues. Harry's body was awash in ripples of desire as Draco pressed him into the mattress and kissed every bit of exposed skin he could find. He watched as Draco caressed him with his eyes, taking in each part of him before marking it with a kiss. 

"You really signatured the wards for me two years ago?" Harry asked as Draco explored the curve of his neck. He could scarcely breathe for the intensity of it. 

"I kept hoping you would come," Draco murmured between kisses. "I thought surely the Ministry would send someone to find me. I always hoped it would be you."

"No one sent me," Harry gasped involuntarily as Draco pushed his shirt up and delicately took his nipple between his teeth. 

"I know," Draco said. "Even better." He returned to Harry's mouth. For a moment he hovered just above him, his gray eyes focused on Harry's green ones. "I have loved you for longer than I can remember," he whispered.

Harry was speechless. His heart swelled so much that he thought he might stop breathing. He laid beneath Draco, floating in a stunned, soundless mist as those words permeated his mind. Draco smiled, recognizing Harry's helplessness for what it was. He stroked Harry's cheek with his thumb and kissed him again. 

Every sensation returned all at once. Harry pushed back against the other man's mouth and rolled them over so he was on top. He kissed and lapped his way down Draco's body, casting his glasses aside and pushing clothing away as inconsequential to his needs. He freed Draco's cock and took it into his mouth as deeply as he could. Every synapse in his brain was focused on one task: Showing Draco Malfoy what he could not say aloud.

Draco writhed in ecstasy as Harry stroked with his tongue and gripped the base of his shaft in his hand. He stroked a finger around his entrance and drew in long, languid pulls, much to the delight of the man beneath him. 

The babble of the auction was as distant as the sea. The world outside of the bedroom ceased to exist, a needless distraction that they could live without. Harry bobbed up and down, stroking and pulling and determined to pour every ounce of himself into bringing Draco to climax.

Draco grasped two handfuls of Harry's hair and moaned at the ceiling, intensity swelling until his hips were thrusting and bucking against his mouth. Harry held his breath as Draco's cock plunged deeper and deeper, fucking him furiously until he rose up and came in a great tidal wave. Harry clung the bed sheets as the wave washed over and passed, and he was finally able to slip free. 

Draco's whole body shuddered, a perfect, pale form laid flat by the magnitude of his climax. Harry rested his head on his knee, kneeling on the floor before him, admiring the graceful lines of his pureblood lover. 

"Come here," Draco said sleepily, waving a few content fingers for Harry to join him on the pillow. Harry obeyed without hesitation. 

Not to be outdone by Harry's generosity, Draco pulled him in close and stroked his cock with equal enthusiasm. It didn't take long for Harry to peak, and when he came Draco kissed his neck from Adam’s apple to ear.

They laid together and drifted in the warm current of half-sleep, fingers gliding across soft expanses of skin. The sound of tapping at the door roused them, but Draco only tossed a light blanket over their naked bodies before calling for the visitor to enter. 

"Will Master Draco be taking his tea out on the balcony today, sir?" Noddy bowed her head and averted her eyes but seemed otherwise unperturbed by their condition. 

"Yes, thank you."

"Is it that late already?" Harry yawned. "I told Hermione and Ron that I would come find them before the auction shut down for the night."

"Tea first," Draco slipped free from the bed and pulled on his trousers and undershirt. He left his tailored button-down on the floor and went out to the balcony barefoot. 

Harry watched him walk away, warmed by the sight of Draco in casual attire. There was a comfort in his gait, a relaxed acceptance of Harry's presence that needed no formal dress. 

Harry tossed on some clothing and joined Draco at the table for tea. They watched the ongoing progression of books as the day's schedule wound down. The gavel cracked, a cheer went up and another book was moved along to the block. 

"What are you going to do with the house?" Harry asked. 

"Who says I'm getting rid of the house?" Draco sipped his tea.

"You're not going to live in an empty mansion, are you? You've sold off the lights," Harry reminded him. 

"I purchased a flat in the city," Draco said. "I don't need this place. It's too much for one person and it's filled with memories I would prefer not to live with."

"What's your new place like?"

"It's a penthouse," Draco said as though that were sufficient. 

"How big is it?"

"It's a good size."

"How many rooms does it have?"

"What are you driving at, Potter?"

"I was just wondering," Harry nudged the crumbs from his lemon cake around his plate. "I mean I wouldn't presume."

"It's plenty large enough for two," Draco eyed him with amusement over the rim of his cup.

"Am I one of those two?" Harry grinned winningly.

"Get a haircut and we'll talk."


	13. Chapter 13

Draco browsed through _Unicorn, Bicorn and Narwhal Practicum_ as they listened to the auction below. Harry closed his eyes and basked in the late afternoon sunlight as the warm September breeze ruffled his hair.

"Well I'll be," Draco breathed. Harry craned his neck and read a few lines of text.

"See? Moonlight," he pointed at the book. 

"Yes, yes, you're brilliant," Draco rolled his eyes with a tolerant smirk.

"Do you have any Dragonvine?" Harry asked. 

"In the sell pile."

"Wolf's Wort?"

"Sell pile."

"Root of Dyer Rose?"

"Sell pile."

"Malt vinegar?"

"Sell-- what? Where is that listed?" Draco frowned at the page. 

"Just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

"Very funny, Potter," Draco tapped the parchment. "But I see a problem here. I need two witnesses, two people I’ve wronged in order to be purified myself.”

“I’m sure Hermione--”

“I can’t have her see me.”

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t thought of that. If Hermione saw him, he would hallucinate his transformation and wouldn’t be able to carry out the rite. “Let me see that,” he read quickly and couldn’t think of a way around it. “I need to go talk to Hermione.”

“You do that,” Draco stood. “I’ll go pull the ingredients out of the sell pile.”

Harry headed downstairs and out into the late afternoon sun. Ron and Hermione were sitting at the back of the auction area as Ron scarfed down an ice cream cone. Harry didn’t understand how he stayed so slim with his appetite. He sat down next to them and explained the rite. Hermione listened carefully and thought for a long time before answering.

“He probably can’t do the rite while polyjuiced,” she mused. “What if I were blindfolded?”

“It needs your tears,” Harry said. “How would that work if you’re blindfolded?”

“Are you the other witness?” she asked. Harry nodded soberly. “I don’t know what to suggest. If he can be strong enough to let me see him when he thinks he’s transformed, we can get through it. But there has to be a third person and that person has to have their eyes uncovered.”

“It’s asking a lot,” Ron said. “You saw how badly he panicked when he was out here earlier.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Harry pounded his fist against his knee. “I can’t do this for him. He even said so himself, he knows he has to be the one to fix this. He can’t stay inside forever.”

He slumped down in his chair as the auctioneer called the last book to the block. The audience applauded appreciatively for the entertaining day. Undoubtedly tomorrow would see a large attendance, with the magical supplies auction finally starting first thing in the morning.

“I want that,” Harry said miserably, pointing at the backs of Ginny and Dean, who were resting their heads on each other, curled up in each other’s arms as they watched the bidding war towards the front. “Or that,” he pointed to Oliver and Andri, who were sitting quietly near the staging area. Andri’s hand absentmindedly fluttered through Oliver’s hair. “We never had that,” he added. “Neither of us wanted to be public about it. But that meant we always had to act like we weren’t together.” He sighed, “And now I’m at a place in my life where I’m willing to be public about it, and the person I want to be public with can’t leave his sodding house.”

“We’ll fix it, Harry,” Hermione leaned over Ron and patted Harry’s leg. “Even if we can’t do it with the unicorn blood rite, we’ll figure out some way to lift the curse.”

They watched the last book sell and then Harry walked his two friends to the gazebo. Hermione suggested that they light the Floo at midnight so she could come through, just in case Draco thought of a way to complete the rite with her present. Harry wasn’t sure what they could possibly think of that would make it possible, but he agreed. She pecked him on the cheek and stepped through the emerald flames with Ron behind her.

He was heading back towards the house when he heard Oliver call his name. He groaned to himself and kept walking, hoping he could pretend that he hadn’t heard anything. But Oliver was persistent. It was the Keeper in him.

“What, Oliver,” Harry turned with a sigh. To his relief Andri was nowhere in sight.

Oliver shuffled his feet and jammed his hands into his pockets. His brow was furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder at the line of attendees waiting to depart through the gazebo. Merlin, but he was handsome, Harry thought. Draco was dead wrong about that. Of course, he much preferred Draco over Oliver anyway--

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Oliver said, snapping Harry out of his spiralling thoughts.

“Not your fault, I suppose,” Harry said. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s queued up for the Floo,” Oliver jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“You seem very happy together.”

“We are,” Oliver nodded. “We’re properly together, you know? Not like you and me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry was instantly annoyed.

“You never really wanted to be with me, not properly,” Oliver said. “You didn’t want anyone to know about us. You were never really committed.”

“What are you on about?” Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been such a long day.

“You know it’s true, Harry. Your mind was elsewhere. Or your heart. Or something else,” Oliver’s expression darkened.

“I never cheated on you.”

“I suppose not,” Oliver checked over his shoulder to see if Andri was nearing the front of the line yet. “But it always seemed like there was someone else in the room. Someone up there,” he pointed at Harry’s head. “There wasn’t enough room for me up there.”

“Are you quite finished?” Harry didn’t want to hear any of this. Maybe he was right. Maybe he’d held out hope for Draco Malfoy instead of focusing on their relationship. He didn’t think so, but maybe he had and not realized it. But that was the past, and he had moved on, and Oliver hadn’t been a terribly nice guy for quite some time. So what was the point of rehashing it?

“I suppose so,” Oliver ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“You know, if you hadn’t been so bloody mean about it,” Harry started and then hauled himself up short. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. You can say my mind was elsewhere, and maybe it was, but it doesn’t justify the way you treated me at the end. Or how you’ve treated me since.”

Oliver checked over his shoulder again. “You’re right,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today and all of the stuff before. I just want you to be happy.”

“I want the same for you,” Harry said automatically.

“I’ve watched you go in and out of the mansion,” Oliver said. “Is he in there?”

“He is,” Harry nodded.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s better than okay.”

“Are you with him or that Gavin fellow?”

“Gavin is a servant,” Harry came up with the lie so quickly that he wondered if Slytherins could rub off on other people.

“So are you with him?”

“Am I with Draco Malfoy?” Harry asked pointedly. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”

“So he’s not dead?”

“I couldn’t be with him if he was, could I?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Oliver laughed. “Listen, do yourself and him a favor. Don’t hide it. It’s much better for you both if you don’t.” He gave Harry a playful punch in the shoulder, “Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Thanks, Oliver. I’m glad you’re happy, too.”

Harry watched him walk to the front of the line and slip his arm through Andri’s elbow. There was no hesitation, no fear of being seen. They were out in public, and amazingly no one cared. Harry hoped he would have a chance to experience the same phenomenon.

When he arrived upstairs he was greeted by an unexpected sight. Draco was in the middle of wielding his wand to organize and straighten up the mad collection of saved items in his bedroom. He had straightened stacks, shored up boxes, shrunk piles and generally cleared away the clutter. As Harry entered a tower of boxes were resizing down to fit neatly under the bed.

“Back in the swing of it,” Harry remarked.

“I hate to admit that you could ever be right about something, Potter,” Draco quipped, “But life really is easier with magic.”

“And you haven’t attacked me yet, so I would call it a success,” Harry agreed.

Draco flipped his wand into the air and caught it behind his back. He bowed with a flourish and slipped it up inside of his sleeve. He beckoned for Harry to follow him into the other bedroom, where a pile of potion ingredients lay stacked near the fireplace.

“I’ve practiced the incantation,” he said, ticking off his fingers. “I’ve memorized the ingredient amounts and order in which they’re to be burned, I’ve got a fire pit out by the orchard that we can use to do it. You’ve got the blood?”

“In here,” Harry scooped up his trousers from the day before and fished out the phial. The ruby and gold signet ring tumbled out of the pocket and clattered to the floor with a bright metallic clink. He scooped it up and mumbled an apology. Draco reached over and removed it from his hand.

“I shouldn’t have made you take this,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Harry uncurled his fingers and took it back.

“Don’t wear it unless you really want to,” Draco retrieved it again.

“I’ll tell you what,” Harry chuckled. “After tonight, if you still want me to have it, I’ll take it and wear it.”

“Deal,” Draco slipped it into his shirt pocket.

“Have you given any more thought to the witness part of the ceremony?”

“I have,” Draco nodded. “I’m just going to have to get through it.”

“You mean with Hermione there, looking at you?”

“I don’t see a way to make this happen without letting her see me,” Draco said. “I’m just going to have to find the strength to let her see the monster, in the hopes that she can help banish it forever.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” Harry worried that he wasn’t thinking through the full implications of what he was saying.

“I’m not sure of any of this, Harry,” Draco’s voice was strong and clear. “But even if the rite doesn’t work and doesn’t free me from the curse, at least I will have done something good in my life. Maybe even undone something terrible that my father did.” He traced a finger over the glass phial and frowned at the black-threaded crimson liquid.

“That’s the right way to look at it, I guess,” Harry said. “And I’ll be there the whole time.”

“I just have to keep reminding myself that it’s all in my head,” Draco said. He looked up for reassurance, “It is all in my head, right? You wouldn’t lie about that?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Draco. I promise.”


	14. Chapter 14

Nightfall came quickly, and Harry and Draco passed their evening with a long, relaxed supper, followed by a shared bath in the enormous tub. The day had been endlessly exhausting but they somehow managed to stay awake until midnight, when the moon was suitably positioned for the ceremony. Harry went down to the gazebo as Draco went out to the ornamental garden to light the fire. Hermione and Ron stepped through the Floo, and then Harry snuffed the pilot light.

“Ron, we’ll need you to stay here,” Harry was nervous. “Draco is prepared to let Hermione see him, but I can’t ask him to let a second person look.”

“No way, Harry,” Ron said. “I’m not letting Hermione near this rite without me. Blindfold me, but I’m coming.”

“Here,” Hermione dug into her purse and pulled out a long silken scarf. She wrapped it around Ron’s eyes and knotted it at the side.

“How do I look?” Ron asked.

“Swashbuckling,” Hermione smirked.

“Now listen,” Harry didn’t have any patience for their blasé attitudes. “This is going to be very hard for him. He’s going to think he’s transforming when he sees you, Hermione. It’s very real in his mind. He can see himself changing and it terrifies him. You need to be calm, reassuring, and let him know that you don’t think he’s a monster.”

“I know.”

“The first part of the ceremony is intended to release the unicorn blood and return its purity,” Harry took Ron by the elbow and steered him towards the ornamental garden. “You’ll face away for that part so he knows you can’t see him. After that, you and I will need to join him at the fire pit. And then it’s up to him to get through the rite all the way to the end.”

“Okay,” Hermione sounded nervous.

“Draco,” Harry called as the glow of the fire pit came into view. “I’m bringing them now. Ron is blindfolded and Hermione has her back to you. I’m the only one who will see you.” He turned Hermione by her shoulders and led her backwards by the arm.

“I’m ready,” Draco’s voice was loud and strong, but Harry could hear the quaver beneath his brave words.

Harry drew his two friends to the clearing around the fire pit and left them to stand just at the edge of the trees. He went to Draco's side and embraced him for a long moment, then checked his pre-ceremony preparation. All of the ingredients were laid out and the fire was low, just a few flames licking here and there above the glowing embers.

“I’m ready to begin," Draco said. He reached for the first stack of herbs, his fingers trembling a bit.

Harry stood aside and let Draco lead the rite. The blond Slytherin drew his wand and sketched an insignia in the air above the fire and laid the herbs across the embers, releasing a thick, sweet smoke that filled the air around them. He spoke the incantation softly, his pronunciation and inflection flawless. Gooseflesh raised along Harry's arms as he watched Draco work. He had always been skilled, with a natural affinity for magic that had so often seemed effortless. Watching him perform the unfamiliar and emotionally charged rite with comfort and ease was inspiring. 

The flames guttered and spat, shifting color and lighting Draco's face in an ethereal glow. He recited the spell from memory, his hands moving with confidence, the wand a natural extension of his fingers. Finally he hefted the phial of unicorn blood and uncorked it while repeating a purification mantra. With his wand in one hand and the phial in the other, he sketched another pattern in the air and poured the blood onto the coals.

The fire doubled in size, blue tongues of flame licking the air as the blood seeped into the embers. Draco took a step back before steadying himself and raising his wand again. He finished the recitation and the flames flared to purest white, illuminating the clearing like midday.

"It's done," Draco called softly. Harry moved to embrace him but Draco stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't touch me yet," he murmured. "I can feel it inside of me. It's in my arm."

"Is it time?" Hermione asked from the edge of the clearing.

"It's time," Draco sounded less confident. 

"Just remember it's all in your head," Harry said as she turned to face them. 

Hermione and Draco's eyes met and the panic set in immediately. His pupils shrank to terrified pinpoints and his body trembled. 

"Tell him, Hermione," Harry said. 

"You're not changing, Malfoy," she said. 

His eyes bugged out and he clutched his arm in pain. The dark mark glowed red and the curse sigil revealed itself as a tangled knot winding around the skull and snake. The white flames swirled towards him and crawled across his skin as though sentient. He bared his teeth and growled like a beast, his chest heaving for breath. His arm was engulfed in white flame, holding him captive as he struggled to contain the fear of transformation. 

"You're still human," Harry said as he and Hermione spaced themselves around the fire pit. The white flames ignored their presence.

"No," Draco moaned, staring down at his free hand in horror. "It's happening, Harry. Help me!"

"You're still you, Draco," Harry insisted. "It's in your head. Remember that it's in your head."

"Don't look at me," Draco's eyes flicked fearfully to Hermione and he threw his right hand over his face. 

"You are not a monster, Draco," Hermione raised her voice. "Please calm down and tell us what we need to do!"

With great effort Draco lowered his hand, his face twitching and his body convulsing in the pantomime of transformation. He snarled and moaned and curled over in agony, but the white flames kept his left arm steady and unable to retreat. 

"I have to confess a way in which I've harmed you both," Draco gasped between growls. "And shed a tear for each into the fire. Then you need to shed a tear for forgiveness."

"Harry, I don't know--"

"You have to find a way to forgive him," Harry cut her off.

"That's not the hard part," she said. "I don't cry, not unless something is really bad."

"Just try," Harry begged. She pressed her lips together in a tight line but nodded. 

Draco writhed and tried desperately to claw at his arm through the flames. He forced himself upright and took several deep breaths before he was stable enough to speak. "Harry, I was horrible to you. I knew you had lost your parents and I made fun of you for it. I tried to hurt you, I tried to injure you, I was cruel and I told myself it was okay because you had so many people telling you that you were brilliant.” He paused and looked away, his face contorting in a beastly grimace. “I can never forgive myself for how I treated you. Even when I knew I loved you I showed you hate. I don't know how you can look past it--" his voice choked. He twitched and snarled and covered his eyes. "There's nothing I can ever do to make up for what I did, not if I spend the rest of my life trying."

"That's all in the past," Harry was overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring. "We were kids, for Merlin's sake."

"We weren't kids when I broke your nose," Draco's right hand clawed at his shirt with a life of its own, yanking the collar and ripping the fabric. "We weren't kids when I," he dropped his head to his chest with a strangled moan. "I've loved you almost as long as I hated you." He held his hand out before him, curled into a claw and offering it as evidence. "Look at me. This is what I am, Harry. I'm a monstrosity. You've always known that. You wouldn't take my hand on the first day of school," the words choked in his throat. "This hideousness, you've always seen it and I hated you for it." Suddenly he railed at the arm restraint, thrashing and clawing at the white flame and trying to free himself to no avail. "Let me go!" he wailed at the sky.

"Draco," Harry reached for him before stopping himself. "You're not changing. It's in your mind. I promise you that."

"It's in me, Harry," he moaned, surrendering and sagging towards the fire pit. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I'm not a better person." Tears streamed down his face as he grimaced and convulsed. 

"Catch one," Harry said softly as his own tears welled up. 

Draco raised his clawed hand to his face and gently lifted a tear with one finger. He held it out over the fire and let it drop into the flames. 

Harry quickly dabbed his own eye and flicked a tear into the flames, too. There was so much he wanted to say but couldn't find the words. He wanted to tell Draco again that he was sorry for the Sectumsempra, that he had nightmares about it, that he couldn't stomach the sight of blood, that blades terrified him, that he couldn't shave without a protection spell. He was sorry for giving as good as he gave, for never trying to get along, for not taking his hand on the first day of school, for following him and accusing him and confirming for him again and again that he wasn't good enough for Harry's friendship. How much of Draco's alienation did he own? The question kept him up at night. 

But now wasn't the time. And even if it was, Harry wasn't sure he could get all of those words out. They would have to come out naturally, assuming this rite released Draco from his curse and they could have a chance together. 

"Granger," Draco couldn't look at her. He crouched and tried to cover his face but the white flames kept their grip on his arm, lashed to his dark mark and the curse sigil. He wailed and pulled and tried to turn his back to her. 

"It's okay, Malfoy," Hermione said. Her eyes were wide and for once she seemed to have no smart answer for what was happening to him. 

"I'm sorry I called you mudblood," he whimpered. "I'm sorry for everything I said. You're the smartest person I know. I hated you for always getting better marks than me."

"Thank you," she said with dry eyes. "Harry, I can't cry over that. He may have hurt me as a child but it didn't stay with me. We're grown up now, I don't have any tears for childishness."

"I'm sorry for what my aunt did to you," Draco propped himself up on the edge of the brick fire pit enclosure. He flinched and trembled and growled ferally. "I should have been stronger, I should have said something. I didn't want to be a part of that." He doubled over and cried out. "Help me, Harry! I can't stay out here."

"I can't do it, Harry," Hermione's face was hard. "I can't cry over that. I'm done with tears. I've put a lot of energy and time into getting perspective on what happened and I won't cry anymore. And if I force it, it's all for nothing."

"Hermione, please," panic rose in Harry's throat. The unicorn blood was already in the flames. If they didn't complete the rite there would be no more opportunities. 

"I can't," she shook her head apologetically. "I wish I could, but he's done nothing that could bring me to tears."

"I can," Ron said from the edge of the clearing. 

"No, Harry, please," Draco's eyes bulged and he clawed at the brick fire pit. "Don't let Weasley see me like this."

"You have to," Harry begged. "You can't live with the curse forever."

"Let me do it," Ron tore the scarf from his eyes and strode to the fire. Hermione stepped back to give him room. "I have something you can apologize for, Malfoy."

"I can't, I can't," Draco buried his face in his arm and howled like a beast, dropping to his knees and pulling against the fixed white flames..

"You get up and look me in the face," Ron said. The tension around his mouth betrayed his outwardly calm demeanor.

Draco froze, then with tremendous effort raised his head and obeyed. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned heavily on the brick enclosure. The white flames licked up his arm to his shoulder.

"My brother."

His words hit Harry like a palm strike. Hermione slipped her arm around Ron's waist and tried to lead him away.

"No," Draco's body trembled but his expression was steady now, no sign of the twitching monstrous convulsions from a moment ago. His right hand clenched and flexed, still clawlike, and he hunched as though his spine were curving beneath the force of transformation. But he faced Ron with acceptance. "Let him speak."

"You didn't kill my brother," Ron said, his voice resonating with pain. "Do you even know that I lost a brother? Is your world big enough to care about that sort of thing, Malfoy?"

"I know about your brother," the effort to remain upright and facing the ginger Gryffindor was tremendous. Sweat beaded at Draco’s hairline and trickled down his face as his legs threatened to buckle. 

"You didn't kill him, I know that," Ron's cheeks flushed. He swallowed hard and touched his mouth as though he could contain the grief by blocking it with his fingers. "But--"

"Ron," Harry interrupted. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to him."

"Don't protect him, Harry," Ron turned on him with blazing eyes. "He needs to hear what he did. I don't blame him for Fred's death. And I don't blame you for forgiving him for everything he did. He's suffered, I get that. And you've been in love with him for ages, pretending you weren't. And I haven't said one word about it, have I? But he needs to know how what he did affected my family. He can hear it and apologize for it, and maybe I can forgive him tonight."

"He's right," Draco gasped, the white flames licked higher, spreading to his neck and chest. Harry was scared of what might happen if he was fully consumed.

Ron bowed his head and gathered his composure. He peered at Draco with loathing. "You've always been an arsehole, Malfoy. You and your father. You have no idea how much people hate the mere sound of your family name. You tried harder than anyone at school to tear me down and make me ashamed of my life. But like Hermione said, that was childhood. I don't need your remorse for that." He stopped and looked heavenward for help. "You didn't kill him," he repeated. "I keep telling myself that. I've told myself that for two years. Draco Malfoy didn't kill Fred. It was those other Death Eaters, the ones who destroyed Hogwarts and killed everyone. You weren't even there."

Draco nodded silently, and seemed to know what was coming. A tear rolled down his cheek and plunged into the flames that licked at his face.

"You weren't there, Malfoy," Ron's voice choked. "The other Death Eaters were. They got through. My brother is dead because they got through." Tears were streaming down his face now. "They got into Hogwarts, and he died defending it."

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. The white fire wrapped fully around his body now. Harry wanted to run to him, to push him free. But he knew he shouldn't touch him, not until the rite was complete. 

"They got through, Malfoy," Ron swallowed a sob. "They got through because we weren't powerful enough to stop them. We tried, but it wasn't enough to keep them out. There was only one wizard who could have kept them out, but he wasn't there. He wasn't there because he was dead."

"I'm sorry," Draco's face was barely visible through the fire.

"Professor Dumbledore could have kept them out," Ron said. "But he was killed by Death Eaters who entered the school." He leaned forward and raised his voice to be sure Draco could hear him over the roar of the fire. "You didn't kill him, Malfoy. Just like you didn't kill Fred. But if they hadn't gotten in, if they hadn't killed Dumbledore, maybe he could have stopped them from taking Hogwarts, and maybe my brother would still be alive. You didn't kill him, Malfoy, but they got in and he died nonetheless." His chin wrinkled as he struggled to finally release the words that threatened to overwhelm him. "You let them in."

"I know," Draco collapsed against the brick ring. The fire billowed around him and engulfed his body completely.

"Draco!" Harry shouted. "Ron! Help him!"

"Ron please!" Hermione yanked at Ron's arm as Draco's body curled in on itself on the ledge of the fire pit and rolled into the center of the embers

Ron raised his hand and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He leaned forward and held out one finger, and with a tiny glimmer in the firelight a droplet rolled off of his fingertip and fell into the flames. 

The fire flared and shot high into the night sky. Harry, Ron, and Hermione staggered backwards as it spat and sparked like fireworks. Harry's heart had stopped, he was certain. It was too late, he told himself. Draco had been consumed by the ceremonial pyre and would never emerge. 

"Hermione," he croaked, too scared to say any more. 

Slowly the flames shrank, withdrawing into themselves and dying down. Gradually they made out the shape of Draco's body and Harry feared with a sick stomach that he would be burnt and shriveled from the intense heat. Finally the fire quenched completely and the three former Gryffindors stared, frozen, as the last lick of flame dissipated.

The air was silent, and the heap that was Draco's body lay motionless inside of the brick circle. Harry's head swam and his vision grayed. He couldn't be--

"Harry," Draco's voice called from somewhere within the heap.

Harry's mind snapped back into place and he ran to Draco's side. He rolled him over and nearly wept at the sight of his perfect, unmarred face. He patted down his arms and hands, down his body to his legs. There were no burns, no wounds. And not even a lingering shadow of his Dark Mark remained.

“Open your eyes, you git,” Harry’s voice was shattered.

At first Draco didn’t move, and then his eyelashes twitched and he looked up as though nothing had happened. He smiled shyly and touched Harry’s face.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“I think so,” Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and hugged him so tightly that the other man grunted.

He helped Draco to his feet and watched with breath suspended as Draco turned to look at Hermione and Ron. He didn’t tremble, he didn’t twitch or try to hide. His hands were relaxed and his posture was calm. They eyed him warily, unsure whether to approach or stay away.

“Ron,” Draco said, stunning Harry with the unprecedented use of his best friend’s name. “I’m sorry for everything I did. I’ve hurt your family in an unimaginable way, and I can never make up for it. I understand if you can’t forgive me.”

“The rite wouldn’t have worked if I hadn’t forgiven you,” Ron said. “Blaming you won’t bring him back. Fred never let himself feel down for even a moment. I can’t honor his memory by dwelling on what might have happened differently.”

“I’m sorry nonetheless,” Draco bowed his head.

Ron extended his hand and raised his chin challengingly. Draco looked up and glanced over his shoulder at Harry, before clasping Ron’s hand in truce. Hermione offered her hand, too, and accepted Draco’s apology with equal grace.

They gathered their belongings and trudged back to the gazebo. It was late, and the third day of the auction would be a busy one. Hermione and Ron departed by Floo with a promise to meet up in the morning. Harry turned the gas line off to extinguish the flame, then slipped his hand into Draco’s and walked with him to the house.

They went upstairs in the dark, and Harry considered pointing out that they would have light to go by if Draco hadn’t auctioned off all of the lamps and fixtures on Friday. They undressed clumsily, exhausted and drained by the intense ceremony and shuffled towards bed. As Draco laid his shirt neatly in the hamper the gold and ruby signet ring fell out of the breast pocket and clattered across the floor. He picked it up and studied it in the glow of a candle on the fireplace mantle.

Harry stepped up behind him, slid his arms around his waist, and tucked his head over his shoulder. Draco leaned into him and sighed.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, eyeing the ring.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“Do you want me to have it?”

“I gave it to you before.”

“I said I would take it back if you still wanted me to have it.”

“I want you to have it.”

“Then I want it.”

Draco turned in his arms and raised an exhausted eyebrow in the closest approximation of haughtiness that he could manage. “Don’t mess about, Potter,” he said.

Harry grinned and held up his left hand with his ring finger extended.

“That hand?” Draco’s other eyebrow ascended.

“Why not?” Harry shrugged.

“Okay then,” Draco slipped it onto his finger and kissed him sweetly. “I do,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, then turned on his heel and climbed into bed.

Harry stared down at his hand in dumbfounded confusion. “Oh,” he breathed. “That hand.” He climbed into bed and spooned up behind Draco, his knees tucked gratefully behind the other man’s thighs. “I do, too,” he said in his ear.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning Harry and Draco woke up slowly, lingered in bed, and then shared a shower. They ate breakfast on the balcony and watched the auction down below, already in full swing. The potion ingredients went first, eliciting a tidy bit of bidding action before moving on to magical artifacts. Harry leaned over the railing and spotted Hermione and Ron near the front, jockeying for visibility as the bidding action heated up.

“We should go down there,” Harry said.

“I don’t know,” Draco fiddled with his wand.

“It’s time to get back out there,” Harry said. “If nothing else just go out, thank everyone for attending, and come back inside.”

Draco thought about it for a moment, then excused himself to the loo. He was gone a long time, and Harry hoped he was okay. He doubly hoped he wasn’t considering using Polyjuice to go outside. Finally the French doors swung open and Harry’s jaw dropped.

He looked immaculate. His hair was neatly trimmed and styled, his skin was smooth and blemish free. He wore an impeccably tailored suit and expensive looking shoes. He adjusted his cufflinks and raised an eyebrow at Harry’s outfit.

“This is a coming out event, Potter. Shouldn’t you be wearing something nicer?”

Harry didn’t have to be told twice. He ran to the fireplace and lit the Floo, then jumped through to his flat back in London. He ran straight to his bedroom closet, only peripherally noticing the stale smell of the unit he hadn’t intended to abandon for three days. Fortunately he owned a rather nice suit that he had purchased to attend Neville Longbottom’s wedding the previous spring. He dressed as quickly as he could and jammed his feet into a pair of black shoes before darting back to the fireplace and diving through to Draco’s bedroom.

“Better?” he asked, breath labored from the frantic dressing and traveling.

“Haircut,” Draco raised his wand and swish-flicked at Harry’s head. “Remind me to teach you some decent grooming charms.”

“Better now?” Harry held his arms out for inspection.

“Very handsome,” Draco sashayed up to him and snaked his arms around Harry’s waist. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s mouth and yielded the instant he felt the touch of Harry’s tongue against his lips. Then their hands were undoing all of their hard work, unknotting ties and unbuttoning shirts and casting trousers to the floor. Harry pushed Draco onto the bed and crawled on top of him with a hunger that couldn’t wait. He ran his tongue down Draco’s chest to his navel to his cock, then down around his bollocks and thighs. Draco sighed greedily and pressed back against Harry’s eager mouth. He spread his legs wide and drew his knees up, inviting Harry to kiss around his entrance and tease with his tongue.

Harry made a show of licking his finger sensuously, then pressed it inside of the willing Slytherin man, and the sensation of Draco bearing down on him pleased him wickedly. He drew Draco’s cock into his mouth and pushed deeper with his finger, adding a second and third as soon as he was able. He pushed his mouth and fingers in rhythm, eliciting the most decadent cries from the man above him. He felt Draco rise up and knew he was close, but before he could climax, Harry withdrew.

“Fuck” Draco hissed. “Don’t stop.” His voice was tormented and his hips flexed into the open air. Harry tipped his head and smirked, then tickled the very tip of his finger across the head of Draco’s cock. “Fuck me, Harry, please,” Draco moaned.

Harry crawled up the length of his body and hovered above him, the tip of his own member just grazing his prepared entrance. Draco writhed in agony and tried to press down against Harry, but to no avail.

“Please, please,” Draco begged, hoarse with need.

“Do you want me?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco moaned.

“Do you need me?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I need you, Harry. I need you right now.”

“Will you stay with me forever?” Harry asked.

“Forever and ever, I swear,” Draco wrapped his hand around Harry’s neck and drew their mouths together. Harry pressed forward and groaned as the tightness of Draco’s arse surrounded him.

“More,” Draco breathed, pushing back against Harry’s shaft. They began to rock together, thrusting towards mutual ecstasy. They locked gazes as Harry pushed faster, their skin slapping together as they rutted like animals. Draco bit Harry’s lower lip, Harry pulled Draco’s hair. Draco smacked Harry’s arse, surprising a laugh out of him. The bed creaked uproariously as Harry pounded into Draco, and the heat rising between them roiled and boiled until they both rose up together in a synchronized cry of climax. They bucked against each other, writhing and twitching and convulsing until the dueling orgasms finally receded.

As they lay catching their breath, Draco lifted Harry’s hand and laced their fingers together. He inspected the ring on his finger, watching the sparkle of the rubies that surrounded the Malfoy seal. Harry wished he had something of equal value to give in return.

“So am I going out there just for myself or are we telling everyone about us, too?” Draco asked.

“Whatever you want,” Harry said. “I’m ready to be honest about my life.”

“I guess I need to get dressed all over again,” Draco sat up.

“You could go out like that,” Harry eyed his body appreciatively. “Although it would probably confirm the rumors of your madness.”

“Maybe I should wear a mask and cape, then,” Draco smirked.

“I knew it,” Harry nudged him in the ribs. “You’re Batman.”

“You have no idea how much research I had to do to understand that rumor the first time it showed up in the paper,” Draco shook his head.

“It was always my favorite theory.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to buy a cape,” Draco ran his hand up Harry’s thigh.

“Don’t get started again,” Harry climbed out of bed and retrieved his clothes. “There’s plenty of time for that ahead of us.”

Draco reluctantly agreed and donned his perfect ensemble once again. Only when he was convinced that he’d attained maximum perfection did he agree to follow Harry down the stairs. Noddy was in the kitchen, doing prep work for lunch already.

“Master Draco!” she squeaked. “Noddy hasn’t secured the kitchen yet!”

“It’s okay,” Draco checked his cufflinks one more time. “I’m going out today.”

“Wish him luck,” Harry added. The tiny house elf cheered and ducked her head bashfully. Harry felt the same way.

Draco paused in the doorway and squinted out at the sunlit garden beyond. He took a deep breath and wiped his palms on his trousers, then gave Harry a grim nod. Harry took his hand in his and smiled encouragingly.

And then Draco stepped outside.

The sunlight washed over them as they emerged from the darkened house. Draco tipped his head back and let the light play over his face. He beamed at the sky, without even a glimmer of the transformation hallucination of the Dark Mark curse. He laughed softly and pulled Harry into his arms. “It’s okay,” he whispered in disbelief. “It’s actually okay.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the staging area, where a few attendees were still perusing the magical artifacts that were waiting to go up on the block for bids. At first no one noticed their presence. Then Harry heard a gasp from one of the attendees in the seating area. A murmur rose, spreading and growing louder until the auctioneer was forced to halt the proceedings.

A silence fell over the crowd. Draco raised a hand and waved with a refined elegance. The fact that his other hand was attached to Harry Potter had surely not gone unnoticed. They walked to the raised platform and Draco released his grip as he stepped up to the podium with a polite nod at the auctioneer.

“Well,” he said to the crowd of wizards and witches before him. “It’s been a long time.” A chuckle rose from the attendees. “I want to thank you all for coming,” he said. “Your patience and enthusiasm has been appreciated. I’d like to share an important announcement before we get to the final items and close out this event.” He paused and thought for a moment. “I know some of you are wondering whether this is the full collection of the Malfoy estate. The answer is no, of course not. I have withheld items that I felt were too dangerous to auction off, and to those of you who hoped to bid on those kinds of items I apologize for wasting your time. Instead of auctioning them off, I will be donating them as appropriate to the Ministry for use in their pursuit against dark magic, and to Hogwart’s School of Wizardry and Witchcraft for use in their education curriculum that teaches students the defense against the dark arts.”

A mixed rumble spread through the crowd. While many attendees were pleased with the announcement, others grumbled about the waste of perfectly good magical artifacts. Harry spotted Oliver and Andri a third of the way back and nodded once to his ex. Oliver nodded back.

“I’m sure many of you are wondering what I’m going to do with the money raised today,” Draco scanned the crowd knowingly. “I will be donating fifty percent of the funds raised by this event to Hogwarts to support ongoing renovation, and to expand both the school and the class offerings so that it may thrive and become the gold standard model for wizarding education worldwide.”

Ron and Hermione jumped to their feet and cheered as the rest of the crowd applauded. Harry was overwhelmed by the generosity of Draco’s offer. He wished he could react but he was too self conscious about standing in front of the crowd.

“In the meantime,” Draco continued when the applause died down. “I am shuttering the manor, and I will be considering sale of the house, the land, and the surrounding Wiltshire properties.” He turned and extended his hand to Harry, who met his grip without hesitation. “I have a life to live, and it’s time to move on and start thinking about my future. I thank you for your support and your participation.” He let harry lead him down from the platform and all the way to the back of the seating area.

The auctioneer tried desperately to redirect everyone’s attention by starting the bidding anew. Ron and Hermione left their seats and ran to Harry and Draco with beaming faces. They babbled over each other about Draco’s decision to fund the school until finally he had to raise one imperious hand to stop them.

“If you do not stop talking over each other I’m leaving every penny to Slytherin house,” he said sharply.

“Malfoy,” Hermione gushed. “I mean Draco. It’s an amazing gift. The school can do so many amazing things with this kind of funding.”

“Really, mate,” Ron pumped his hand enthusiastically. “It’s more than generous.”

“When I say it’s the least I can do, I know you’ll understand that I mean it,” Draco said in a rare moment of sincerity.

They watched as the auctioneer pressed on and moved the last of the items across the auction block. Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s waist and the now-familiar warm sensation filled his middle again as Draco embraced him in return. They had a life ahead of them, Draco had said so himself. And now that he was freed from his imprisonment, the world lay before them with endless possibilities. Harry couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

“I just realized,” he said in Draco’s ear, “I still have the whole next week off of work.”

“You’re going to need to bring back more clothes,” Draco said firmly. “You should give notice on your flat, too.”

“You’re serious about this, then?” Harry peered at Draco for any sign of hesitation.

“I’m serious,” Draco said. “I signatured the wards for you two years ago, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Okay then,” Harry felt a grin creep over his face.

“There goes the last item,” Hermione sighed. “the auction is almost over.”

“You’ll have to come see the new flat,” Harry said. He furrowed his brow, “Actually, I’ll need to see the new flat.”

“Lucky me, I get to host a little Gryffindor party,” Draco rolled his eyes in mock dismay.

“Maybe we’ll make you an honorary Gryffindor,” Ron said, sneaking a peek from the corner of his eye.

“I will go back to calling you Weasel if you do,” Draco peeked back.

The auctioneer raised his gavel as the final bids rolled in. He held it aloft and waited for any final calls, and then waved it with a dramatic flourish. “Going once,” he called out over the crowd, “going twice, sold!”

******************************************

THE END


End file.
